


Sore Winner

by venividivici



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (of sorts), Alternate Universe, Angst, Enemies to Friends, Figure Skater Zayn, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hockey Player Niall, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:16:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 68,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venividivici/pseuds/venividivici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"No. No, no. Just. Just shut up. Figure Skating isn't a game, okay. I don't play figure skating, I perform it. Big difference from your elementary recess time you call a sport. That's a game."<i></i></i><br/><i>Niall only inhales, sighs loudly into the cold air. "This is nice. You and me. This chilly night, the stars are bright. Perfect time to lay out how we really feel about each other, don't you think?"<i></i></i><br/><i></i><br/>Or, Zayn likes the stars; Niall reads too many horoscopes; and neither is mature enough to drop their irrational hate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sore Winner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heart_eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heart_eyes/gifts).



> I finished this at the literal last second omfg!!!!  
> Okay, phew. *composes self* I cannot begin to explain how much guts, tears, and blood I put into this. I honestly believe I might've became temporarily depressed at a time because with everything that unfolded in the last few months I didn't know how to make this fic happen, but hopefully I prevailed *fingers crossed* I know zilch about ice skating/hockey; so I had to do a little research to make this as accurate as possible, though I'm really sure many errors are still present. Please let me know if there's something that needs fixing!  
> I've had a short playlist that I'd listen to while writing this, so whether it was the words or just the beat, the songs listed at the bottom helped the making of this.  
> Please give a mighty round of applause to Siang and Zoë who helped out with this story as much as they could. Thank you so much, babes! I know my writing is preposterous and I'm surprised you stuck around for as long as you did haha!  
> And last but not least, my beta who's become so much more to me in such a short amount of time, Desy! I'm actually still surprised you're still here haha! Seriously! You are just phenomenal and deserve all the ziall fanfiction in the all the universes combined!  
> This fic would've (without a DOUBT) embarrasingly flop if it wasn't for them so thank all of them abundantly!  
> I would also like to thank Lex, who made this ziall exchange possible! This is the first exchange I've been a part of and I would gladly do more in the future and I know it was because they handled this whole exchange so well. Thank you for that, babe!!  
> Also, a huge huge HUGE thanks to my recipient, heart_eyes :) All your prompts were soooooo good!!! So I hope to see your other ideas on this site pretty soon :3 I pray that this was what you've imagined it to be, and I had many other details for this story to add but I had to cut out a lot to fit it all on time :( this is for you, babe! <3 xx
> 
>  
> 
> _i. dangerously in love 2 - beyoncé ___  
>  _ii. touch - daughter ___  
>  _iii. cornfield chase - hans zimmer ___  
>  _iv. mountains - hans zimmer ___  
>  _v. pch (ft. willow smith) - jaden smith ___  
>  _vi. georgia - vance joy ___  
> 

___

_i._

_You steal me away_

_With your eyes and with your mouth_

_And just take me back to a room in your house_

_And stare at me with the lights off_

_To feel something_

___

There is a short list of rules Zayn abides by.

One, don't stay silent when someone says something sexist or racist in his vicinity. Two, always sneak an extra serving of key lime pie if possible; he knows he won't see it again soon after. Three, never give Kareem full control during training. Four, never give Kareem full control during training. And five, if Kareem ever possesses full control during training, play dead.

Which is what he's currently doing, sprawled on his back across the once-polished ice that's now striped and scraped from the steel blades under his feet.

"Malik! Up! Right now!"

"But..." Zayn purposely makes his voice hoarse, extends an arm shakily towards the ceiling, gloved hand covering the main bulb from his vision. "The light," he croaks. "I can see the light."

"Get your arse up and start the drill from the beginning," Kareem says, so fucking _loudly_. He claps even louder, if that's possible. "Come on, get up, let's go!"

Zayn sighs, opens his eyes in time to see his breath fog in front of him. Luckily, he placed his hood on before he laid down; otherwise the back of his head would've been soaked through and the thin layer of condensation would've seeped through his hair, stuck to his neck. And yes, he loves the cold, loves the numbness in his fingertips and the slight rattle of his bones from a rough wind, the bite to his nose and the chatter of his teeth that he stops by tightening his jaw. He's in love with the cold, gradually harbored this nurturing adoration for the frigidness over time due to years of practically living over sheets of ice.

But performing a full drill with droplets of ice-cold water clinging onto him isn't so comfortable.

Zayn stands up slowly, wants to wring Kareem for as long as he can for the hell of it. By the time he's on both legs, balancing evenly with enough finesse in his ankles to avoid toppling over, Kareem's nostrils are flared, mouth puckered angrily as he exhales harshly.

"Okay," Kareem nods. "Alright. Bach, D Minor. _Toccata_."

Zayn almost slips on his way into starting position, snaps his neck over to find Kareem completely serious. "You're _not_ serious. That piece is almost ten minutes!"

But the opening melody is already starting. So Zayn curses under his breath, kicks the ice with his toe pick and glides into formation with his other foot. At least he partially tolerates the track playing. That gets him through half of it, because by the time he nails his second flawless layback spin, Kareem calls it quits.

Zayn loves figure skating more than anybody he's trained with, maybe even his father. But the wobble in his knees as he drifts towards his trainer is a pain in the ass.

"I think I'm really dead now," he huffs, wiping his nose when he gets to the door. He leans against it, lets Kareem dutifully wipe his skates until they’re dry and put the braces on his skates before stepping onto the dry carpet. "Think I did pretty good. I can skip Thursday's sessions, right?"

"You did astounding, what's new." Kareem pats his back roughly, walks a little bit ahead so he can hold the door open for Zayn. "Which means you _can't_ skip out on Thursday. I'm doing my job correctly."

"Yeah, fuck off."

Zayn's joints are too sore, not loose enough to tamper the burn behind his calves, in his lower back, between his shoulders. They feel like they're swelling painfully, expanding with buckets of ice and burning coals on the areas at the same time.

He sits on his bench, slumps his back for a moment to get himself back in one piece before assembling his shoes. God, he can't wait to lay down and burrow under his infinite number of quilts. Maybe then he'll actually die instead of it being a joke; but who's complaining.

"So," he starts, untying his second skate as he looks up at Kareem standing by the lockers. "What's up? What do I need to work on?"

Kareem flips through a couple of papers on his clipboard, scrawls messily with a black ballpoint pen over something before tucking the pen behind his ear. "Okay so your 3 turn was out of wack, bro."

"I was tired."

"There were too many brackets," Kareem mutters around the end of his pen now nibbled between his canines and molars.

"I thought I was going to perform the whole ten-minute piece, you expected me to improvise outta my ass?"

"Too stiff in the sit spin, but..." Kareem shrugs his shoulders, tucks the clipboard under his arm. "Your other jumps and spins were ace. Fucking _nailed_ that flip jump."

"Yes. Thank you. Now let's go." Zayn, can honestly eat almost about anything right now. The thought of hot, seasoned asparagus on a steaming plate, honestly, unabashedly, has his mouth watering. "The competition next Friday, who should I be worried about?" he asks after his boots are carelessly placed on his feet, bookbag hanging by one strap over his shoulder as he zips his maroon sweater to his neck. It's the kind with soft fur stitched on the inside. Zayn's never felt so cozy.

"Um. Well about that." Kareem holds the door open again, waves an arm towards the outside hall so Zayn can walk through while Zayn only looks at the gesture uncomfortably. "It's canceled. But you're free for three days, so rejoice over that, mate."

"But why?" Zayn was looking forward to it, felt a bit (a bunch) happy that Louis unwillingly agreed to coming to the event after Zayn had to physically hold him down and threaten to never ask his mom to bring over his beloved dish of chicken rice.

Kareem bites his own cheek in reply, smirks with his eyebrows pulled up and Zayn doesn't ask.

Only because he hears the riot before he gets the chance to. And he understands Kareem's painful expression clearly because he's sure his own face reflects it perfectly.

"Zayn! My man!"

It's. . . one of them. The one with dark eyes and a wide smile, that's all Zayn knows, though. Asshole #43, Zayn _dubs_ him, because he's sure that's the number on his jersey.

"'Sup," Zayn mutters, because all he wants to vomit is _I'm not your man I'm not your man I'm not your man._

"Hey, how's it going?" #43 roughly exhales when he gets closer. He doesn't understand personal space, it seems; because as Zayn keeps walking he kindly side steps with him, maintains their steady pace and, you know, it's nothing big. Zayn can communicate with him. He speaks with stray dogs all the time.

"Great. Never better."

"Still prancing around in your dress and all? Doing splits in midair with your tutu?" #43 has the audacity to laugh, like he's landed the biggest joke that'll go viral on social media in days.

They're. . . Oh— They're so fucking stupid.

"Oh, yeah. Glad you brought it up, actually. You can keep it, since you went on all night how pretty you felt while being rammed bent over."

Zayn keeps walking, licks his teeth while he turns his head to find Asshole #43 stuck to his spot, staring back at Zayn stupidly. Now Zayn laughs, purposely scrunches up his nose like he's watched the greatest sitcom since The Office.

It's here where Zayn bumps into someone, though he doesn't know if it's an actual human being or a mighty laugh molded into some heavy physical form that he's collided with.

"Sorry, mate." The laughter... _laughs_ even more. "Couldn't get the image out my head. Calum in a tutu? Nah, couldn't fit in that."

He looks down Zayn's bony frame, and Zayn learns two things. That he is a human being, with a discernible smell of cherry chapstick. And that the cutest laugh he's ever heard derived from something that inhabits the bottom of the food chain. It's such a shame, really, Zayn thinks. Such a waste.

"But _you_?" Asshole #.... _Dirt_ (Zayn can't find his jersey number anywhere) brings his gaze up to Zayn's face, blue eyes wide open filled with amusement. "Dunno, mate. A dainty frame like yours would be killer in one of those things."

His tone is flattering, and Zayn feels himself manually holding back the urge to flutter his eyelashes, agree with Dirt easily because nothing pleases him more than fuckboys toppling over with confusion at recipient's confidence. But Dirt's not just a fuckboy; he's one of _the_ fuckboys. One of the scumbags Zayn tries to avoid at every corner; yet it's difficult when both figure skaters and ice hockey players need the same rink to play.

Literally. The same rink. If Zayn had a nickel for every time he bumped into hockey jerks, he’d have enough money to pay any studio to create a new album of pieces to skate to, would never have to perform to Tchaikovsky or Vivaldi, ever again.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Zayn tilts his head to the side, doesn't move away when it seems like the guy isn't going to, either. "Bet you don't even know what you're talking about, considering tutus are soft, made of tolerant material and are able to withstand stability when stressed. When you're none of the above," Zayn mutters, looking to the floor in exasperation.

There's an echo of _Ooooooh_ behind Zayn, maybe even a voice beside them that's holding the last tone. Zayn doesn't notice it. Only notices the tall build of misused muscles and lack of potential in front of him that's sporting an old blond dye job.

"Oh, so you talk, after all? Thought you were all forced to be quiet all the time. None of ya have a voice, anyway," the blond replies, scratching under his chin like Zayn's the mindless itch there. "Not surprised, though. Liked you better with your mouth shut, pretty boy."

"Well, thank goodness I've never asked for your opinion. God, this would've been _awkward_ if I did," Zayn ripostes behind his teeth, the corners of his mouth pulled low and taut as if he's in a tricky discussion.

"Listen, mate - ”

"Horan, it ain't worth it."

"Yo, I'm handling this," the blond cuts off when he turns towards the source of the interruption. He turns back to Zayn with one thick eyebrow high over his forehead, mouth contorted in an angry frown. "Listen, just go home. Let us do our thing, and you do yours. We're all here, anyway, and nothin' you say will change the fact your little ballerina recital on Friday was canceled for _our_ game."

Zayn had his next comeback settling between his gums and mouth, a bit _too_ ready to coyly remark about endangered animals needing to be left alone in the wild instead of forced into safety pads, how money's going to waste over these barbaric pastimes. But he _had_ his next insult ready, now he's mute and incapable of forming a verbal thought with Horan's words beginning to make sense in his head.

"Are— Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Ni, come on, man. That's enough." A man near Horan's age settles to his left, puts a hand on his shoulder firmly. His brown eyes flicker to Zayn, warmth seeping through them and Zayn knows when a ceasefire is called. He also knows he's lost this time. "Sorry, mate," he says to Zayn. "Don't listen to a word this one says, he's just riled up, he always is."

Zayn bites his bottom lip, looks between the two guys standing in front of him to find Kareem a couple feet away. Zayn can't decipher if he's trying to refrain from laughing out loud or is simply done with Zayn's shit. But he knows from the steady line of Kareem's brows that this piece of information isn't new.

"Yeah, well, he wasn't just lying now, was he?" Zayn retorts, not bothering to look at them when he fits himself in between them, roughly hoisting the strap of his bag higher, in hopes it hits anyone. But he walks away with no contact with them and a deep hatred only brewing stronger in his torso.

Zayn's surprised he's never actually thrown up a meal with how much disgust his stomach's perpetually filled with.

***

"Lou, they drive me up the fucking wall."

"Uh huh," Lou says right after. He's not paying attention, Zayn knows. But it's fine, because he just wants to get it off his chest, anyway.

They're playing Mario Kart DS, on opposite sides of the couch with bundles of throw fleeces over them. Zayn doesn't groan when Louis' Donkey Kong throws a red shell, his own Dry Bones blasted in air before toppling to the ground as Kong swerves past him. Zayn just breathes harder, clamps his teeth down on nothing because he's still fucking bothered by it all.

"Like, can you believe it? A tutu? The fuck? Does he know who even _wears_ tutus? You've gotta be so fucking _stupid_ not to know that."

"You've gotta be kidding me!"

"Exactly!"

"No, man, not that. Fucking Peach hit me with a blue shell."

Zayn sinks more under his blanket, feels a resigned _Oh_ leave his lips in the silence that follows. He wins second place, right behind Louis and he waits for an anthem to start blaring in his ear because he knows Louis will never let this go.

But it never comes, and when he puts his game system down and pushes the blanket under his chin, he has enough time to lock his body in preparation before a heavy body's plummeting over his.

"There, there, you poor thing," Louis consoles, petting Zayn's hair down before giving up the task since the strands only flop back against the armrest. "All is better now, you don't have to see them for a little while."

"I know," Zayn sighs, momentarily losing his fiery momentum. "But still!" he comes back, flaring his nostrils with a rough breath. "They make me sick, Louis. Swear to God, I'll hurt one of them. Maybe them all, who knows."

"Wait, you can't hurt Liam. I won't allow it. You're my best friend but I will, without a doubt, disown you if any danger comes to him by your hand, Zayn."

"Who the fuck is Liam?"

"The Fireproof's Right Winger, keep up, Z. I don't keep you around for nothing."

"Wait." Zayn holds a finger up. "Wait, hold on." He sits up straight, watches Louis sit back in his space easily, unaware or without a care of what he's just said to Zayn. "You mean you associate with them?"

"Oh, I do wish." Louis sighs dramatically, fits his closed fists against his chest with a look of scripted longing over his face. "A man after my own heart, and yet," he looks over to Zayn, maintains a phenomenal pout, "not a word has passed between my soul and his."

"Get the fuck away from me." Zayn shoots up from the sofa, pushes at Louis' shoulder when it looks like he's reaching for him. "I can't believe you, of all people, would _do_ this to me, Louis. Out of everyone, _everyone_." Zayn doesn't know if his last statement is referring to his backstabber of a brother or this Right Winger. Maybe both.

"You would understand too, if you saw him, babe." Louis follows him to the kitchen, gives a childish cheer of triumph when Zayn retrieves the boxed pizza from the freezer, the oven already preheating. "He's like a younger David Beckham, I promise you. From the hairline to his facial hair and when he _smiles_. Zayn, I'm in love. And you need to be a good friend and accept me as I am. I, I'm not sorry."

" _I_ , am having an internal crisis right now. And I don't think I can look at you for," he picks up the discarded pizza box, reads the number of minutes it needs to bake completely, "the next twenty-one to twenty-four minutes, thank you."

"Liam called, and you're going to be both of our Best Men so get your dad to splurge on us and we'll have the most luxurious wedding ever."

Zayn reluctantly chuckles and has an image of his dad at his own wedding, if the day even exists; Zayn's not sure who'll cry more from the both of them.

He still has his gaze on the counter in front of him but he can see Louis jumping back to sit on the counter across him. "You make me sick, can't deal with you, dude."

"I'm overwhelming, I know." Louis does a show of flicking imaginary hair off his shoulder. "Can you turn that fan off, though? My hair won't stop blowing."

"Won't stop blowing," Zayn giggles. Louis rolls his eyes in response, mutters loud enough about who's actually the sick one in the apartment.

***

He knocks on the door lightly, steps back and pulls the sides of his beanie more over his ears to keep the cold away. Zayn's going to apologize, he's going to. He's a big boy, and it's only right if he does. He's not used to apologizing, not used to the word _sorry_ passing his lips, but he needs to start somewhere.

The flowers are held tightly in his grip, fat green bow tied perfectly around the stems. They're daisies and white alstroemeria, a bit of yellow roses in the mix and okay, Zayn might've spent more money than usual on a bouquet that'll last two inhales, but. "Go hard of go home," Caroline told him.

When the door's opened and Zayn sees him he pauses, swallows and dives into his planned speech.

"Sorry I'm late. I honestly took a wrong street and just," Zayn gestures wildly to his head, like he's the crazy one before thrusting his filled hand forward. "Um, these are for your wife and you. Hope you like them, felt bad for...you know."

"Zayn, fella! Come on in," Greg greets easily. He gives Zayn an even easier hug and yeah, Zayn's missed them. It's been a few months since he last babysat Theo. "Thanks for the flowers, too. Don't know how to tell Denise this, she might get jealous, haha!"

Zayn laughs also, maybe not as loud (or sincere) but Greg doesn't point out anything and idly strolls through his house until they're in the living room.

"The game still hasn't started, so you're fine. I heard the spirit team are still performing, thank God. Though we might be home sometime after eleven, hope that's alright with you?"

"Perfectly fine," Zayn nods.

By the sound of his voice a little boy from the sofa pokes their head from the top of it, gives a high-pitched gasp when they're faced with Zayn.

"Zayn!" Theo squeals, running over with his socked feet thumping the wooden floor roughly. "Hi, Zayn!"

"Hi, little man," Zayn smiles, rubbing Theo's back where the boy's wrapped around his leg. "You've been cool while I was gone, right?"

"The coolest. I need to tell you all about the coloring books mommy bought me."

"Sweet!" They high five, Theo going back to his respectful domain on the cushion as Rio plays on the flat screen.

Denise comes barging in their space then, a few hairs out of her ponytail. "Sorry I took long, couldn't find my purse. Then when I did the keys weren't in there so I had to look for _that_ —”

"Babe, I had them the whole time." Greg smiles, gives a twirl of his keys around his finger mockingly.

"Yeah, I kinda put the pieces together in my head afterwards, thank you very much. And Zayn!" She strides over, hugs his scrawny frame tightly and kisses his cheek. "I missed you, sweetheart. Hope all is good with you."

"Thank you, same to you. And here, these are for your husband and you." Zayn grins appropriately, knows Denise is blushing behind her cheeks as she grabs them from his hand with a giggle.

"Oh, Zayn, they're lovely. Let me put them in a vase with water before we leave. These are just to die for, right, sweetie?"

"Completely, my love. Now we really got to go."

It's another minute before Greg's gently pulling Denise out the door, sighing endlessly as she makes sure Theo has everything and his bedtime snack is ready and the book Zayn'll have to read to him is handpicked by her, herself.

"How's it going, buddy?" Zayn ruffles Theo's hair when he sits down, smiles lazily when Theo tries to shrug him off as Blu and Jewel kiss onscreen. Zayn wouldn't be surpised if Denise sometimes prohibit Theo from watching G-Rated scenes like this one.

"Good. I helped my dad make scrambled eggs this morning for mommy, it was fun."

"Really? You think you can make me some. I'm starving."

"Well, daddy said I can't get near the stove unless I'm with him or mommy." Theo frowns, honest-to-God looks so fucking sad and Zayn's heart hurts.

"I was kidding, Thee! I brought food of my own, thanks, though."

"Coolll. What kind of food?"

Zayn has a bookbag with a thin white-paged book and a few stencils near the bottom. Consuming the rest of the inflated space are a variety of Doritos and a new bottle of Mountain Dew. There may be a packet of doughnuts, he doesn't remember.

"Brussel sprouts and peanut butter."

"Ewwww. Peanut butter? That's nasty, Zayn!"

"You eat it with jelly in a sandwich."

"What?" Theo whips his head over to Zayn. "Daddy doesn't put peanut butter in my sandwiches."

Shit. "Well," Zayn fumbles. "I guess your dad doesn't put it in yours. My dad doesn't put it in my sisters' sandwiches, either."

"Oooooh," Theo says for sometime. Okay, now all Zayn has to do is feed him once, make sure he brushes his teeth before bed and read a book.

This is good. He did the same for Safaa and Aroosa all the time. This is good.

***

Zayn has to dodge running toddlers and watch his step occasionally as he walks through the day care. There are so many _kids_ around. Which is fine. Which is _expected_ , obviously. But. They're all over the place. Stuck in that ripe age of _toddlerville_ where rules aren't always smart and they can do just about anything.

And that's what it seems like, as he trudges through this forsaken land, no companion to guide him, all alone.

He steps back right in time before a little girl with uncapped markers run by, chasing another girl. Zayn's grey jeans do end up with a small splotch of green below his knee. He really hopes they were erasable. There's also that cacophony of cherubic giggles and evil snorts that seems to follow him everywhere. He expects it to end once he reaches Brooklyn's assigned class, but if anything, it only heightens. It may be his cranium taunting him, or making him get used to it. He just wants it to end.

She spots him first, her little head sticking out from behind the short bookshelf that reaches Zayn's stomach.

"Uncle Zayn!" she calls, but everyone else is in their own world so it's not like anyone scolds her.

"Hey, pretty girl." Zayn bends over, picks her up with a tiny shake in his hands as he jostles her in excitement. "Guess who you're going to spend the day with."

She only laughs, because the answer is always the same whenever Zayn's the one picking her up. He misses the days when she wouldn't know the answer to a question he might've asked simply ten minutes before; her immature brain unable to lure the question back.

He signs her out, finds out by her care taker that Brooklyn was witnessed being a little disruptive during naptime—Zayn is going to have so much fun playfully tormenting her about it—and is zipping up her pink coat, making sure her pigtails don't get caught in the zipper when he spots them.

It's a sluggish transition, because Zayn rises slowly and sees him from his periphery first, has a stupid moment where he convinces himself it's _not_ him. Then Brooklyn sees him, and she doesn't know, which isn't fine but expected; so she gasps and calls his name, and it takes another dull moment before Zayn brings himself to look because it's definitely him and he doesn't want to be an ass if he doesn't have to be.

"Zayn," Jonah says in greeting. Zayn can instantly notice the blush gradually encasing Jonah's face, starting by his ears before slowly swallowing his whole expression. He exhales roughly, fidgets his hand tucked into his front pocket. But his smile is still genuine as before; maybe even more so.

Zayn hates it.

"Hey, man." They hug, and Zayn ponders over—for a literal millisecond—if the hug should be prolonged for both of their sakes or if cutting it short quickly would be easier.

It's cut short, and Zayn can't decipher if it was from his own or Jonah's doing.

"How you've been?" Jonah asks, with so much sincerity glowing off his skin, spilling over the fold of his arms; blinding Zayn. "Haven't see you in months."

"Um. Yeah, I've been," Zayn gently shrugs, hopes he doesn't convey how uncomfortable he is, "I'm good. Picking up this little vermin here." He pats Brooklyn's hair down, scrunches up his nose when she looks up at him and utters _Heyyyyy_.

Jonah smiles at her, too. And Zayn wants to pull her closer to him, wants his countenance to speak for him, the words: You're not in the picture anymore, you don't have to act like you are. But he refrains only by stuffing his hands deep into his jacket's pockets, messes with lint to keep himself occupied.

"Hey, Brook, how you've been?"

 _Brooklyn_ , Zayn thinks when she starts talking. Instead Zayn licks the front of his teeth and raises his eyebrows a bit too disturbingly. Trying to engage in the conversation though he'd rather have the little girl with the markers around him right now.

"Awesome sauce!" Jonah gapes, lifting a wide hand so her tiny palm could slap against his. "I'm sure your mom must be proud. How's Caroline, anyway?"

It's addressed to Zayn, and Zayn honestly has to tighten his jaw and widen his eyes to avoid rolling them or saying something unnecessary. He feels like Moses, but instead he's chanting _Leave my people alone!_

"Good. Anyways, we, um. Gotta go, so. I have," Zayn stammers, mentally banging his head with cymbals to come up with a lie, "Have some essays to write. Classes and all," he scoffs, a lazy roll of his eyes and a flailing hand to accompany the statement.

"Oh, you're back in school? How is it so far? I'm thinking of going back, actually. Would you recommend a class?"

Jonah rubs his chin, places a hand over his own waist as he waits for Zayn to answer. Like, Zayn has all the time in the world.

He does, but Jonah doesn't have to know that. He _shouldn't_ know that.

So Zayn only smiles with tension quivering in the corners, hums lightly once before steering towards the door. "Actually, I do have to go. But I'll get back to you. See you, mate."

"Okay, cool. Nice seeing you, though. You can talk to me, Zayn." It's meant to be a joke, and Zayn can _feel_ the effort Jonah's exerting to make sure nothing is serious at the moment. But Zayn's witnessed those brown eyes with nothing but adoration, with so much joy it'd made Zayn squirmy in the best kind of way.

Now they're murky, afraid of seeming soft, straining to keep from pooling over.

Zayn's disgusted, but not with him.

"Yeah, of course. I'll get back to you. Promise."

Zayn isn't the only one who can dissect his words and not find a truth.

***

It's only a bit of a careful tone and a promise of locking up when he's done that Zayn's promised the arena all to himself.

He hasn't thrown himself into a heavy training since bumping into Jonah. And Kareem senses something's off but doesn't hover, simply allows Zayn to skate by his own rules whenever he calls for a drill. The drills aren't difficult, either, aren't coated with enough agility to stray Zayn's mind towards something time-consuming, _thought-consuming_. But a tiny part of him is grateful Kareem understands when Zayn, himself, doesn't entirely.

Zayn stretches in the lockers alone, feels his shirt sticking to his back and chest from the laps he jogged around the rink. He can feel the rapid pulse of his heart still, minutes after jumping rope. It's comforting, the heavy thud in his chest that's pumping warm blood throughout his body, alerting the rest of his nerves of what's to come.

He's sitting on the bench with a skate in his hands, licking his thumb to wipe a bit of dirt near the toe when someone knocks on the open door.

Zayn should be lucky it's not a murderer, or some psycho. He's only a guy who saunters cautiously into the room with a thick bag over his shoulder. His face isn't _familiar_ , but...there's this string in Zayn's mind tugging at him to figure out where this boy is from, because he's sure he must've seen him _somewhere_.

"Arena's closed, bro. Sorry."

"Oh." The guy looks sincerely surprised, blond tuffs of hair bordering his ears and hairline where they peep from the brim of his snapback. "Didn't know, just found the door unlocked and. Was gonna skate for a while, but never mind."

"Hey, it's fine, mate. M'going to skate myself. Who's your trainer?" Zayn asks, because the guy with blue eyes in front of him still doesn't look so familiar. Only vaguely. Rarely that, even. Zayn doesn't find a visible logo on his bag, either. So he can't guess which lineup he's a part of. Definitely not Kareem's.

"Uh, trainer? His name's Jarvis."

Zayn shakes his head, raises a side of his mouth. "Never heard of him." A rough sigh as he stands up, Zayn slings the knotted laces of his skates over his shoulder when he peers over at the boy near the door. "I don't support two separate skaters on the rink at the same, so don't say anything about this, but I was going to put a little bit of Korsakov on the radio, and if you stick to one—”

"Wait, no, I'm." The guy laughs, a really nice sound, and Zayn allows the tingling tendrils in his stomach to set free because he'll never say no to nice things. Especially when this guy has a nice smile and only appears more flustered as seconds tick by. Zayn hasn't dated in a while, since _him_ , actually. And maybe engaging in a bit of flirty banter with this unknown stranger wouldn't be so bad. Like, he's a skater also, how bad can he be?

Zayn smiles along when he rubs his pale forehead, takes his cap off to scratch the roof of his head before flopping the hat back in place. Placing his elbow on his raised knee, Zayn puts his chin on his open palm, crooks a smirk as the guy stammers. He wants to pinpoint where he knows this face from. Surely a face this cute wouldn't float from Zayn's mind so easily.

"I'm a hockey skater, I. I play hockey, not figure skating."

The tendrils in Zayn's stomach freeze up and drop to his feet before his smile sinks from his face. The not-so-familiar face is plastered correctly over a body Zayn suddenly remembers bumping into all too well.

"Sorry, mate. Arena's closed."

"Oh, so _now_ I need to leave?" he laughs. "Because I play hockey, rich of you."

"I don't have time for this. So please go, I actually want to enjoy this evening without your presence here."

"I've seen you skate before." The guy smirks, and Zayn's unable to pinpoint just how malicious it is because his eyes are really blue and his laugh is still ringing in the air and Zayn wants to scratch his eardrums until they bleed. Stab out the pupils of his eyes.

Not really, but the expression sits more pleasantly in Zayn's mind than the other option.

"A lot of people've seen me skate. What's your point?" Zayn rolls his eyes in the next second while he snatches his skates, stuffs them in his bag and walks towards the door in the time it takes for the guy to think over a response. "Know what? Don't answer that. I'm leaving, anyway. And since I have the keys you need to leave, too."

"You're only giving us more time to be together, you know," the guy snickers, rubbing his nose as he walks next to Zayn. "Can we start over? You hate me yet you don't know me. I'm Niall, and I'm a goaltender on my team. And you hate me for that, as far as I can tell. But enough about me, let's talk about you."

Zayn takes his time thinking of an answer; doesn't mean he'll respond. Though when he gives a slow look to his side Niall's still waiting, heightened eyebrows patient as the rest of him with a cherry scent filling the pathway.

"I think you should go. And like, not make an effort to talk to me from now on."

"That's pretty harsh."

"Wouldn't you know." Zayn's inner devil slaps him, screams in his face with a hot breath _What the fuck are you doing? You're encouraging him!_ Zayn profusely apologizes internally, asks for forgiveness and condenses a five-minute prayer into two seconds.

"You should stop nursing this hatred you have for us, bro," Niall says easily, moving aside when Zayn quickly closes the door, keys in hand. "It's only gonna grow and eat at you even more than it is now. You don't even know me."

"I know what hockey's all about, _bro_. You—” He cuts himself off, wants to physically shake and scream with exchanging this many words with this guy. "You fucking savages just swing a stick around. Such a fucking stupid game."

"That's a lot of words coming from you, Ice Princess. I may not like what you do, and I've honestly never seen a game so ludicrious receive so much attention, but I don't rub it in your face."

"No. No, no. Just. Shut up. Figure Skating isn't a game, okay. I don't _play_ figure skating, I _perform_ it. Big difference from your elementary recess time you call a sport. _That's_ a game."

Niall only inhales, sighs loudly into the cold air. "This is nice. You and me. This chilly night, the stars are bright. Perfect time to lay out how we really feel about each other, don't you think?"

Zayn shakes the shackles, would enjoy the ringing that permeates, but.

"Are you flirting with me?" he asks Niall, doesn't hide the discomfort on his face. "'Cause if I haven't made it clear before, I don't like you."

"Likewise, babe. Just thought you needed to get something off your chest. Can I start, at least?"

"Oh, my God." Zayn walks away without another word. He only dwells in the welcoming silence for a little over fifteen seconds.

"Want some?" Niall asks, offering his stick of chapstick. His lips are shiny and red in the streetlight.

Zayn only stares between the tube and him with disgust brimming his vision before looking straight again.

"I just don't like how delicate you guys are. Is that mandatory? Do ya have to be so soft and fucking, I don't know, airy?" Niall suggests, as if Zayn's involved in the conversation. "Jesus Christ, and to think someone like me could've just let it be. But you guys germinate the ice _we_ skated on first, so. It's only right we feel this way towards ya peeps."

"Groundbreaking," Zayn mutters, "for you to think you were here first when ice hockey derived in the 19th century. Do your research before you talk shit, mate."

"Is this where you tell me 'figure skating was here way before hockey'?" Niall uses air quotes, stutters over his words when his teeth chatter from the biting cold.

"I don't need to tell you anything, I'm wasting my time." By the time Zayn finds the lamppost two blocks away from his apartment does he flip out; flip off; go a little berserk. "What the fuck, are you following me home, bro?"

"Whoa." Niall understands his level of animosity now, lifts his hands up cautiously. "Chill, bro, I'm not."

"Don't call me bro. Swear to fuck, I'll." Zayn takes a moment to lick his lips, freezes on the pavement and fists his hands with the horrid thought of this blond actually being a murderer all along.

Niall senses the distress, slows down to assess Zayn slowly before haulting a few steps ahead. "Okay, okay, okay. I get it, Zayn, I. Sheesh, calm down. Really. I'm not a threat." Niall's throat jumps, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets with a shaking breath. "I'm leaving, alright? Just tried to get you to see we're not all bad."

"Look, Niall." Zayn swallows around the name, feels the smoothness of it between his teeth. "I don't want to be an arse, but we don't know each other. So just. We don't like each other for a reason. Keep it that way."

Niall shivers against the cold, zips his coat up to his chin and ducks his head into the space. "Nah, Zayn." His words are muffled. "Where's the fun in that?"

"I'm going home. Do not follow me."

"Already ahead of you, sir." Niall salutes him with two fingers, spins on his heel until he's walking the way they came from. "By the way," he raises a hand in the air, doesn't look back, "Your Biellmann spin is outrageous, mate. Gotta admire that, at least."

Zayn feels the noise rolling in his throat, churning in his mouth before he's chuckling loudly with something in his eye. "You're a freak," he calls out loud enough.

A gracious laugh follows Zayn home. It makes him completely chaotic.

***

Many weeks later, and Zayn still hasn't told anyone. And it's not because he's keeping it a secret. It'd have to hold some validity to be worthy of keeping it to himself. But it doesn't. So Zayn doesn't talk about it, at all.

He may think of it when he's training, giving it his all only to look up and find Kareem slouched against the wall and scrolling through Twitter; but it only dives into his head when he's skating because down the outside walkway of the rink was Niall obnoxiously talking. Niall? That's such an obnoxious name. He bleeds obnoxiousness. He must.

Zayn may also hear a soulful laugh in his head a few times during his walk home. Really, it's in his head. Because he looks around and yes, he is alone. And he may have to ponder over the fact if this obnoxious person really is no one to him. But after a few moments of intense thinking, he's not left perplexed nor tipped over from an astounding revelation. Niall's just a boy with a nice laugh who unfortunately happens to play hockey.

So it's nothing, really. He doesn't have to tell anyone, doesn't have to tell Louis; but he needs _something_ to say.

"So I'm minding my own business," Louis goes on, twirling a fork into his cheese fries.

"You were not minding your own business."

"You're right, I wasn't, _but_ ," Louis points the dirty tines at Zayn with a firm look, some of the cheese dripping between their meals, "I've happened to find out I attend the same dance program with Liam's ex."

"Mmm," Zayn hurries to swallow and wipes a hand over his mouth carelessly. "No way, you're kidding."

"I'm _not_. Would I ever joke about my betrothed like this?"

"How'd you find this out?"

"Well, after we finished a skit, El went to get us water but on her way back she was talking to Dani, who is a _bitch_ —”

"You're jealous."

"I _am_ , and okay, she's not a bitch, but they were talking and she mentioned his name and I just thought ' _Oh, okay, she likes a Liam too_ ' but she showed El a picture on her phone and I was there, Zayn. I saw it and," Louis closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the heel of his palm. "He's so gorgeous."

"And that makes her his ex how?" Zayn's turkey burger is almost gone, the side of vegetables and fruit he ordered still untouched. It's just....burger or health; the answer's simple.

"Because that's what El dubbed him as and Dani went along. How am I supposed to get with him now if his ex is a semifriend of mine?"

"First," Zayn holds up a greasy finger, waits until most of Louis' attention is focused in his direction, "Have you spoken to him yet at least once?"

"No. But they're playing against Stan's team on Saturday and I'm going to support both sides. Maybe land a few digits on my phone," he winks, forming guns with his hands and waving them at Zayn. Zayn blinks in response, and Louis drops the impression and idly pokes a few fries with his fork. "And you're going with me. Already listed you as my plus one."

"Okay, _second_ , this isn't a wedding. No, I'm not going. And maybe you should talk to this guy first, see if he's available, if you like him for more than just his," Zayn gestures vaguely, "his arms, or. Smile, I don't fucking know. If you find you wanna continue it, then let the girl know. Don't ask for permission, though."

"Does it look like I'll ask for permission?"

"You know what I mean." Zayn divides the fruit and veggies in half and gives one portion to Louis. "Let her know what's up, kindly, so it doesn't look like you're going behind her back. And it's always nice to tell her, it's the least respect she deserves."

"Right. Respect, 'cause that's what I was going for," Louis mumbles under his breath, slicing a berry in half. The resulting mess stains his fingers, and Zayn waits patiently for his even mouth to tremble around the corners. "Alright, I'm kidding. I'll do just that."

"'Course you would. You always listen to me," Zayn smirks.

"Ha ha ha. So what about you, what's going on? Besides the last gathering you had with your other _skater friends_. You know, your _best friends_."

"They're not my best friends," Zayn scrunches up his nose.

"Tell Harry that. Anyway, what's been going on? What's the dealio, dude?" Louis makes an effort to hunch his back and raise an upside-down peace sign, the other hand punching his chest. "What's in style? What're you kids radding about in this generation?"

"Chill."

"What's the word, son? Tell Daddy—”

"I might go back to school."

"Seriously?" Louis smiles, leans over to pat Zayn's shoulder. "Awesome, mate. Gonna finish at community college?"

"Yeah, maybe." Zayn does miss school, sort of. He's only finished two semesters consecutively, and though the work was strenuous and annoying as fuck he actually learned a lot and looked forward to attending. "Still have a few Reading and Math courses that need completion."

"Sweet. I think I've left your login info on the fridge. So if it's still there, you got this, Z. What brought this on?"

Zayn blanches here. The answer's there, though. Pinching his tongue and egging on with the thinnest veil of desperation surrounding it.

"I've bumped into Jonah the other day."

That drops Louis' smile. He sets his hands onto his lap and crooks his head to the side, brows meddling in thought. "Really? When was this?"

"Like, the end of January?"

"The fuck, Z, it's March. The other day, my ass."

"Well. Yeah, I know." Zayn looks to the table. He has a few boiled carrots, very tiny. He easily cuts one in half. "It was weird, but," he talks around the crunchy orange root in his mouth. "Dunno, I was annoyed, what's new."

"You're always annoyed with him," Louis says softly. "What happened?"

" _Nothing_ happened. I just picked up Brook and— _Brooklyn_ , I mean, and he was there. We talked for a bit. But he talked more to her than me."

"Did he look annoyed with you, too?"

"He looked, the same as usual, actually."

"Shit," Louis mumbles. And, yeah. Zayn doesn't blame him.

"Yeah, so. He wanted to talk more but I lied and said I had school work to do. And then I got to thinking—”

"You lying piece of shit."

"Hey," Zayn laughs. "I didn't want to talk to him. I wanted to make tacos with Brooklyn, anyway. He would've kept me there forever."

"Hm, true. But. Don't be so annoyed with him, Z. He only means well."

Zayn would retaliate, mutter under his breath to ask him if he gives a motherfuck but. Louis knew Jonah longer than him. And Zayn doesn't want to talk about this anymore. So—

"I also talked to this hockey player where I train. He fucking harrassed me, man."

"Real shit? A hockey player? Was it Liam Payne?"

"No, it was— Ugh, shut up, Lou. It wasn't him." Louis frowns but doesn't push it. "His name was Niall." Zayn remembers that clearly. "Bit taller than me and you, whack blond dye, um..." He waves a hand. "Some prick, really. Wouldn't leave me the fuck alone. And he knew my _name_ without me telling him? God, he was creepy."

"The fuck he wanted?" Louis says roughly, and Zayn looks up to find one of his eyebrows arched angrily.

 "Wait, no no no. He was fine," he assures, waiting until Louis seems calm to continue. "He just wanted to skate also but I left and had the keys. So he like, talked to me during half of my walk home. Bit of a weirdo, if I can say that."

"Was he trying to flirt with you?"

"Okay, Lou, for the millionth time, not everyone likes men. Get that through your head."

"Well with a face like yours no one's safe."

Zayn blushes, but covers it with a genial roll of his eyes. "But no, he wasn't. And if he was, he's a fuckboy so. They flirt with anything alive."

"That's kind of harsh."

"Kind of the truth."

"I don't want to think of Liam as a fuckboy," Louis pouts, rubbing a fingerpad over the glass. The condensation smears wetly. "So stop it."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have practice today?"

"No. Kareem trains a few other skaters, too. Think he might reschedule tomorrow also. He's getting a lot of calls, lately."

"Duh. With a student like you, you're the city's Golden Boy."

Zayn simply rubs his nose, thinks his long-suffering sigh is answer enough.

***

"Aw, mom," Zayn groans, rubbing his eyes as Trisha continues to talk through the line. "I forgot. I'm sorry. I know, I know. Promise I'll make it up to you."

"You missed last year reunion's too, Zayn," she says quietly, to the point Zayn believes it's like she didn't want to be heard. "Your father had to cover for you and you know how he hates lying."

That doesn't sit well in Zayn's stomach. And he has to slow his walk and grip his phone tightly to make sure he doesn't bolt towards his parents and apologize profusely. The last thing he'd ever want is his father being uncomfortable because of him.

"I do. Really sorry, mom." Zayn really means it, can't understand just how he failed to remember his family reunion was last weekend. He may be even more disappointed in himself than his mother. "Mom?" he asks, because she hasn't spoken.

"Oh, son, it's okay. We love you, even though you're a pain in the rear."

Zayn reluctantly smiles. It doesn't make him feel better.

"Love you too."

"Make an effort to come by, okay?"

He agrees immediately, completely, easily. He misses them and he wants her to know; needs her to know. She seems to by the time they hang up.

He knocks into a third person since the beginning of the phone call, and an apology is at the tip of his tongue. Really, it is. But the invasion of something cherry flavored knocks his senses.

Zayn freezes, locks his joints and whines, "Oh no," with so much defeat it's pitiful.

"Heyyyyy, Zayn!"

He's too happy. Niall's _too_ happy. So fucking obnoxious Zayn's blood would've boiled if it wasn't too busy keeping him alive, making sure his bloodstream's clean and keeping the deadpan expression strapped to his face.

"No."

Niall's undeterred, simply steps along with Zayn. "I was just heading this way, too. Where're you headed?"

Zayn repeats himself, gives a bitter _No_ and speed walks; a sigh of relief emits when Niall disappears. Or just isn't in his line of sight anymore.

"Haven't seen you in a while. How you've been?"

Zayn groans, looks at the sky in frustration before turning to Niall on his other side. "Why are you here?"

"You know?" Niall laughs, and it's that laugh again, Zayn has to swallow around the elated gasp in his throat. "It's really hard trying to be nice to you. And I'm really trying."

"Why, are you here?"

"I parked me car just down the block, saw you walking, figured I make use of me time."

He has an accent, a strong curve around the vowels and too much stress on consonants. Not American, Zayn thinks. He strives not to think past that.

"Hey," he nudges Zayn's shoulder gently with his own, waits until Zayn's looking at him blankly. "M'actually telling the truth. Think I can find out why you hate me and." He shrugs, looks forward with stuffing his hands in his jeans' pockets. "You don't know me. Don't want you hating me."

He cares. That's lovely. He also isn't wearing a hat this time, so blond strands sway disorderly atop his head. His sunglasses block his eyes, so Zayn isn't reminded of their depthness and their exotic blue hue; Zayn counts that as a win.

Zayn doesn't say anything, yet he doesn't walk away either. The only problem is his destination, in reality, is a few yards behind them. He doesn't want Niall to follow him.

"Um. My stop's over there," Zayn utters, slowly coming to a stop and pointing a rushed finger in the direction. "So, like. Nice chat and all, but."

"Well, let's go," Niall flicks his head the same way, a wavy lock of hair setting against his temple. He brushes it aside, and Zayn is 100% positive Niall doesn't know how he looks when he runs his fingers through his hair. Otherwise he'd never do it again if he knew the warmth toll it'd take on every walking specimen in his path.

"You can't follow me. Shoo, or something. Don't you have something to do."

"Well, nothing important." Niall smirks, he fucking— this son of a bitch smirks. Zayn focuses on the dimple in his cheek, walks away without another word.

He knows Niall's following him, and okay, whatever. Why was Zayn worried about Niall following him to where he's going? Yes, the place may be highly _un_ sexy, but what does Niall mean to him? Nothing. So, it's nothing.

But he enters the dentist office, the scent of antiseptic already beginning to latch onto his clothes. And oh God, nothing's as not-sexy as a dentist. He wants to abort the appointment, wants to abort this whole mess. Wants to abort life.

He doesn't like Niall, but he at least doesn't hover over Zayn when he signs in. Doesn't look as uncomfortable as Zayn feels when he slumps into the chair next to him.

He doesn't like Niall. But nothing screams the death of sex appeal as a dentist office. Zayn wants to throw up.

"Feel like, I'm babysitting a fucking baby," Zayn mutters, just loud enough that Niall hears. "Alright, what do you want?"

"Did I ever give the impression I wanted something?"

"Don't play dumb with me. Why are you following me around?"

The receptionist peeks her head over the counter, looks in their direction worriedly. So Zayn merely smiles at her before snatching a few magazines from the table in front of him, mindlessly shoves the third one into Niall's lap.

"Not much of a _Life & Style_ man, meself, Zayn."

"Shut up, she's looking at us. So unless you want her to get suspicious, go along."

It takes a moment for Niall to catch up. But when he does he throws his head back in frantic laughter and slaps his knee. It's not a real laugh, Zayn knows, because he's still in one piece in the hard-back chair; not dilapidated across the linoleum nor gasping for air.

"Zaynie, you can't say that and expect me not to laugh!"

Zayn reaches for his phone in his pocket, makes sure his hands are busy because if not he'll wring Niall's pale neck without problem. No problems at all, really.

**Why the fuck did I bump into this Niall fucker.**

**YOU BUMPED INTO WHO?!** Louis texts back in the time it takes for Zayn to plug his earphones in.

**I don’t know, that hockey player obnoxious motherfucker**

"Now that's really harsh," Niall mutters. When Zayn looks Niall's flipping through the magazine, skimming through an issue on Charlie Hunnam.

"Uh, what?"

"M'not obnoxious. Least I don't think I am," Niall shrugs. He stares at Zayn for a moment, arches an eyebrow in the silence that follows and Zayn forgets the vibrating device in his hand.

"Sorry," Zayn eventually mumbles. "Wait. Yeah, sorry, um." He blinks, looks away to unlock his phone and only ends up viewing his screen blankly without any thought. "That was mean, I'm sorry."

"Hmm. It's okay. When's your birthday?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your birthday." Niall displays the page he's on to Zayn. "Needa know your zodiac sign."

He turns his gaze to Zayn again, leaves it there. His sunglasses are perched right above his hairline, keeping the blond at bay. But blue eyes are free to roam all over Zayn if he pleases and Zayn has a stupid tongue at the moment, feels it flopping over the roof of his mouth aimlessly.

"January," Zayn says. Niall only sends a funny smirk, furrows his eyebrows and Zayn— Right. "The twelfth. January 12th."

"Capricorn, hmmm." One side of the magazine is folded back, Niall bringing it closer to his face. "It says here, and I quote, 'This relationship will work out if Capricorn can initiate ideas and Virgo can continue them.'" Niall swirls his head to Zayn, and Zayn has to pull himself back a bit to avoid colliding their noses. "Lead the way then, babeh," Niall wiggles his eyebrows.

Zayn remembered their first encounter in heightened detail a few days after their second, could've picked up the lewd insults Niall breathed to him clearly enough to refrain from going along with whatever the fuck this is.

"Okay, look." Zayn raises a hand to his face, palm facing down. "This is where fuckboys are, okay? And you?" He brings his other hand way below the raised one.

"Whoa ho," Niall barks, a smile breaking across his face and eyebrows skyrocketing up his forehead. Zayn only sticks his tongue out mockingly. "We're back to that, are we?"

"We never went anywhere, actually." Zayn's glasses slide down his nose, and while scrolling through his phone's pages he pushes them back in place, receives a clearer view of his periphery to find Niall leaning over and staring at his phone. "Do you mind?"

"What's that?"

He's focused on Zayn's wallpaper, a photo of space with a flimsy pillar of gas and dust in the middle.

"Um. It's called Mystic Mountain."

"That's a real galaxy or art?"

Zayn's sweating. He must be. Because Niall's showing interest in one of the most important subjects Zayn harbors in his heart. And it's not every day that someone lends him a new ear to fill and overflow with the little bit of precious astronomy knowledge he's picked up on throughout the years.

"Eh, real. Hubble took the photo a few years ago," Zayn mentions dismissively, as if he isn't currently jumping in his seat to continue the discussion. But he won't if Niall doesn't care. He learned that before with a former friend. (The hard way.)

"Like the Hubble Telescope?" Niall eagerly asks, turning to Zayn with a toothy grin. Zayn tries to give a mindless shrug but ends up looking like a seizure erupted in his shoulders. "Sick, mate. You're into this stuff?"

 _Don't do it_ , Zayn thinks, because Louis isn't here to stop him when Zayn needs to be stopped. _Do you really wanna know?_ he mentally asks Niall. A fragmented Niall nods eagerly in his mind. _Are you sure?_

"Yeah. Actually." Zayn coughs, flicks hair out of his lens. "Um, NASA and two other agencies released this photo in 2010, to celebrate the Hubble's 20th anniversary out in space."

"Real shit?"

"Yeah, it's. Here," he gives the phone to Niall, wants him to really see it. "It's in the Grand Nebula, which is like, a couple thousand light years from this world, so."

"This looks so neat," Niall murmurs, bringing the screen closer to his eyes.

 _Yes, look at it, bitch!_ Zayn chants as Niall squints his eyes.

"Are there planets in this thing?"

"So far I only know there are stars in there, and that they fire off some type of gas. It's three light years in height, which isn't that big, but."

Niall whistles, gives the phone back with a slow nod. "That's cool. Ya keep up with this?"

Niall set himself up, to be honest.

By the time Zayn's found a way to elementarily decode how every star at night is in fact dead, Niall seems equally fascinated and broken.

"So you research all of this as a pastime?" he asks, and Zayn can hint the bit of insanity lacing his words. Zayn understands completely.

Zayn doesn't mention the Hubble Space Center app on his home screen, doesn't mention he still has Astronomy Picture Of the Day in his folders whenever he wants to scroll through weeks of Hubble material.

"Well. Yeah, I guess," Zayn laughs, then abruptly schools his expression into negligence. "It does seem like a lot, and it can be overwhelming at times, and on my own I'm fucking _horrible_ at naming things and whatnot, but I really enjoy knowing about what goes on way out there and shit. I guess."

"So you're saying," Niall points slowly, registering the information in his head moderately, "and I'm just using your words," he's quick to defend himself when Zayn's tiny grin drops, "that you're into something that you're not that good at? I'm just trying to understand this all."

"I bet you're into sex, am I right?" Zayn narrows his eyes, congratulates himself when Niall's unabashed laugh that follows doesn't steer him off course. His dead expression is still intact by the time the sound dwindles and the only thing that's left is Niall giving squinted eyes back at him, trying to impersonate him.

"Zayn Malik," a gentle voice calls.

It's Dr. Faun, and Zayn gets up, sends a finger towards Niall to keep him from following. He has boundaries. "You're not following me. So you can leave now."

"Thanks for the talk, Z. Now I have something else to talk about with the lads instead of hockey," he teases. And right. He plays hockey.

Why did he have to bring it up?

"Seriously, leave. Thanks but no thanks. I don't need an escort."

"Will do, babe," Zayn hears from behind him, the doctor holding the door wider for him.

"He's a lovely boy," she says, moving in front of Zayn to guide them.

"He's not that great," he offers. It's only the truth, he thinks.

 

Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly, Zayn can't tell the difference anymore—Niall's still there when he comes back, slouched in his chair and playing a game on his phone.

"Hey, that went fast. T'ought you were gonna be back there for hours."

Zayn doesn't answer, but he does acknowledge Niall's presence. He's in too much pain to tell him off, right now.

"Are you good, Zayn? Look a bit sick there, if m'honest."

"I'm fine," Zayn croaks, stops himself from talking further when the ache in his jaw makes him more nauseous.

"What happened back there? They took yer wisdom teeth out or summat?"

Zayn shakes his head pitifully, can't explain they only cleansed his mouth as usual; neither can he call Niall disgusting nor shame him in any way. That requires work, and the only thing Zayn's focused on is making it home without passing out in his pool of vomit.

"I'm jus' gonna..." He points to the door, hopes Niall understands as he makes his way out.

"What did they do to you, mate? You look close to crying."

"I feel close to crying," Zayn laughs, because if not he will cry. "Um. They just, like." He is not going to discuss what happened in his mouth, no matter how much he wants Niall to leave him alone. "You know that fruity pasty fizz they put on your teeth? And all that metal poking you everywhere? And when you have to stuff that piece of plastic in your mouth so they can take photos and that part jabs into the bottom of your mouth?"

"Okay, easy. You look sick, bro. Is it always like this?"

Zayn shakes his head, lies to himself and Niall. He always ends up like this. Which is why he didn't tell Louis where he was going today; because he'll hold it against the universe if Zayn doesn't receive all the right treatment during and when they get home.

Zayn just wants to go home.

"I'm gonna go, mate. Thanks for," Zayn raises a hand in the air, hovers it for a second before dropping it since he doesn't know what to do when it comes to Niall. "Gonna go home, bye."

"Wait, you're walking?" Niall looks distressed, which makes Zayn feel worse when he nods. "Bro, I can give you a ride. No funny business. And I'm really not trying to sound creepy but I'll follow you home anyway to make sure you don't drop dead along the way."

Zayn gives a soft _Okay_ ; any louder and he will throw up.

There's a wool blanket in the passenger seat, the aroma of spilled coffee and grass filling his nose in the silence as they drive. Zayn wraps the blanket around him without a word, hears a chuckle in response and feels minutely better.

**Niall’s driving me home, he’s such a saint. Remind me of this when I’m talking shit about him later.**

**WHAT YOU MEAN! STOP IGNORING ME ANSWER MY TEXTS! !**

Zayn scrolls through Louis' previous texts, finds more phallic-impersonated characters than anything. He closes his phone before he finds out why.

"Me nephew, he's only four," Niall says after a bit, thumb tapping quickly on the steering wheel. It's really distracting. Zayn needs his own car. "He gave me this blanket. Made it as a group in some summer camp. Stashed it in his bag and brought it home without anyone realizing."

"He sounds badass," Zayn mutters, wrapping the warmth more around himself. A part of him wonders if Niall implied he should put it down, but peeking an eye over the edge of the material, Niall's focused on the road, head tilt back just enough that his Adam's apple juts out noticeably. Zayn's still looking when he swallows, the careless wave of his throat in the process.

Zayn's never been so hurt at one moment in his life.

"Zayn?"

"Huh?"

"I asked if I turn here?"

"Oh. No, just keep going straight. Once you reach Perkins Ave, my place is there."

"You were not going to walk all this," Niall says disbelievingly. Zayn groans more into the fabric, groans louder when Niall's obnoxious laugh reaches him tenfold. "You would've died, I deserve a thank you, at least, Zayn."

"Fuck off," Zayn replies, resting his head back. "I can still jump out."

"Nah, that wouldn't end well, would it?"

Zayn hums, scolds his face when a smile threatens to bloom. Not only does it _hurt_ , his whole mouth area is on fire and ready to vomit with the rest of him, but. No. Smiling is a no-no with Niall, right now.

"So," Niall drones, ending it in a whistle, nodding his head to the track on the radio. A Katy Perry song, Zayn's sure of it. "How long you lived here?"

"Well." Zayn swallows, tests the ability of his speech to make sure he doesn't scream at any point. "Been on my own since I was twenty, with one of my best friends, Louis; he's a year older. But I lived here my whole life." Niall nods, and it's only right if Zayn asks something back, right? Come on, _free ride_. "What about you?"

"Moved here with me da and brother when I was seven. Born in Ireland, greatest country in the world, actually. So I have the best life, mate."

"So you're half or fully Irish?" Zayn yawns, burrowing a bit deeper into the quilt. It's so fucking warm, bless this nephew.

"Completely. Why?" Niall smirks, looking over at the red light. "Do _you_ have Irish in you?" he winks. Cheeky boy. Zayn hates him.

The first thought in Zayn's head is that this is a joke. Well, of _course_ it's a joke, Zayn's heard this enough times to see it coming a mile away. But if Niall's straight (and he may _not_ be, Zayn really strives to avoid stereotypes), Zayn doesn't want to fall face first in a joke and be humiliated, eventually find out this was all predetermined and was the butt of the joke the whole time.

"Actually," Zayn says, matches Niall's smirk with one of his own that doesn't wobble so much, "I do. My mom's part Irish."

"Damn me," Niall shakes his head, but he smiles and sucks his steeth. "Might as well flush my dreams while you're at it."

Zayn hums a laugh loud enough that Niall hears, closes his eyes and has a nightmare where figure skaters and hockey players coexist in peace before Niall's parking in the first free spot he finds.

"Do you want a drink?" he asks Niall when he unlocks the door, the blanket still wrapped around him. He's not the one obsessed, the wool won't let _him_ go. _He's_ burdened with bringing it in his apartment. "Or something to eat, as well?" he adds in thanks.

"No, m'good," Niall closes the door, wipes his shoes on the rug. "Think that'll only tease you, considering you needa wait a half before eating."

Zayn drops the cereal box back onto the counter, releases an endless curse on his way to the couch. "I'm gonna die, I know it. My whole life's wasted, and I'll be found in a ball, in this spot, forever imprinted as failure."

"You won't die, child, not while I'm here."

Niall settles himself on the other side of the sofa, keeps a respectful distance between them and quietly surveys his surroundings. He's like a kitty, or a golden retriever that knows when to be quiet.

 _Good boy_ , Zayn thinks, throws Niall the TV remote as a reward. "How much I owe you?"

"For?"

"For giving me a ride. $15? I have a twenty in my wallet, the rest are ones, though. So unless you'll wait for me to hit the ATM—”

"Hold up, hold up. You don't owe me anything," Niall interrupts, the discomfort in his face blatant. "We're the future, Zayn, and we need to kill this belief that figurative debt exists in most, if not all, situations. And this is one of them."

Zayn pouts, leans against the back of the sofa and moves his jaw slightly. "My jaw hurts. I feel nauseous in my mouth, not my stomach, and I'm starving."

"If you keep me around for a little, I'll whip up something for a late lunch. Or early dinner. Sounds alright, Zayn?" he says over the voices on the television.

Zayn needs to remember this, or maybe he should forget it. So when they ever collide again he doesn't feel guilty. Maybe this debt belief should die.

Zayn ponders over how Niall knows his name, falls asleep in the middle of the short list of explanations and the zero ways of how he'll bring this up to him.

 

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

"Get off me, Lou," Zayn hums, pulling the cloth over his head.

"Dumbass, it's almost midnight, come on. I'm going to bed, I'm not leaving you out here."

Louis helps Zayn up, sighs and huffs in place of the shoves and rough slaps he wants to give Zayn. He's a nice person, and Zayn should add this to the list of things he needs to remember. Yet he can't remember the other things on there.

It's when he's at the door of his room, feels the wool in his hands that he becomes marginally more aware. "Wait, gotta. Um, Niall he—”

"He left hours ago, babe. Almost freaked out when I found you unconscious with a stranger on my couch."

"He's not a stranger, he's a fuckboy."

"But he gave you a ride home, yes?"

"Oh, yeah." That was on the list. Fuck.

"He's so cute, Zaynie. Did you ask if he's interested?"

"Mm, no. Tuck me in?"

"Mm, no. You stubborn piece of shit." But Louis does, helps Zayn take his jeans off and drags the comforter on his bed over his chest when he lays down.

"He knows I'm a Capricorn," Zayn slurs, this seems like vital information to him. He focuses on the spiky strands framing Louis' face, can't decipher his expression in the dark. "Is that bad?"

"'Course it's bad, us Capricorns are the baddest bitches out here." He kisses Zayn's forehead, lightly slaps his cheek. "Goodnight, Z. Dream of blue eyes tonight or I will."

Zayn wants to hold Louis to that, has a bet forming in his head. But it evaporates by the time he wraps the wool around his back, hazel eyes already crossing behind sleepy eyelids.

***

He can't find his wallet, he keeps telling Louis. It's actually stuffed between his two mattresses in his room. But Louis knows Zayn won't leave without it and Zayn maybe sort of wants to stay home.

"I don't want to stay home, it's not that."

"Yeah, suck my ass. Go find your fucking wallet so we can go already."

Harry's laying on the couch, and when Zayn goes to peer in his direction he finds a pair of green eyes staring at him from the back of the sofa, squinted with laugh lines under them.

"Shut the fuck up," Zayn says, though Harry hasn't breathed a word since Louis began scolding him ten minutes ago. "I don't know if I want to go now," he whispers and hopes Harry can see the frantic twitch of his eye and understand.

"Oh, Zayn, come over here," Harry soothes as he opens his arms. Zayn makes his way over in seconds, thinks if he sinks down enough into Harry Louis'll think he left and will just leave the apartment, too. "Everything's going to be fine, promise. Louis said this blond guy didn't seem all that bad."

"What if I just don't want to see them fucking around on my ice? _My_ ice, Harry." Zayn buries his face into Harry's neck, finds an intolerable amount of cologne sticking to the area. Maybe Zayn just has to stay there for a few minutes in order to pass out.

"Our ice, you mean. As in mine and yours and theirs, too. Who knows, maybe in the next generation there'll be ice soccer players. Nothing's wrong with that."

Passing out be damned. Zayn raises without a word, pulls on Harry's hair until his head snaps back as he makes his way to his room. "Fuck that, I'd rather see them play than listen to this. Can't believe you, Harry."

"They're nice people, if you look past your hypocritical and irrational resentment, Zayn," Harry calls.

He's staying at the apartment for a little while, just until Gemma comes back from her weekend in Alaska with a few friends. The silence their place emitted was too much and Zayn and Louis found a dejected puppy named Harry on their doorstep and now said puppy is camping on their couch; they love him too much to say no.

Harry's the type of person who'll innocently forget to return a favorite jean jacket yet is so generous and kind-hearted people will look over that.

"Hey, you think I can invite Nadine? Her and her boyfriend got into a little argument and now she's sad, I feel bad. Ha that rhymed."

Zayn doesn't answer him, doesn't hear him, in other words. Because he stands in the doorway of his room to find Louis by his bed, stuffing his arm inbetween the mattresses with flared nostrils when he looks up at Zayn.

"Are you fucking serious, Zayn?"

"Hey, you found it. Damn, I looked everywhere."

Louis stands up straight, tosses the wallet to Zayn carelessly. "Yeah, no shit. Come on."

Zayn opens his hands, closes his fingers around the pleather pouch when it lands and follows Louis quietly. "Louis?"

"For the love of all things holy in this world, Z, get a grip and grow a pair. It's just a game. You don't even have to enjoy it, just don't bring me down with you." The wool blanket's perched over the back of a chair on their way to the door, and Louis throws it at Zayn roughly, makes his point clearly. "You sit down, you give it to him, and we leave."

Louis needs some good dicking, Zayn thinks, because the last time he remembers Louis boasting about great sex, Nick was single and him and Lou couldn't get enough of each other. Louis needs some good Liam-dicking.

"Is that a yes?" Harry asks before the door's shut behind them.

 

Zayn had to cancel on babysitting Theo for this. Sticky bleachers filled with even stickier people baiting the once-crisp air with hot breath filled with alcohol.

What, the fuck.

"Here, a beer. It's not that strong," Louis shouts in his ear during the second intermission. A kid is on the ice, swinging a stick that's taller than him. Everyone's laughing and all Zayn sees is a potential broken hipbone.

The drink tastes like cold metal. Tempting, but no thanks. Zayn just offers the bottle back to Louis, puts his tongue between his teeth to stop their chatter because he's just sitting there, letting the cold sink into his bones. He suddenly, with a fright, doesn't like cold weather for once.

"Did you see that bar down?" Louis cheers, clapping like the game is going on in front of them. "That was Liam. That was all Liam Payne, I'm so proud right now."

And also a little drunk. Or maybe he's just having a good time. His teeth chatter just as much as Zayn's, pointy nose polished red from the frigid air and maybe the weak alcohol is helping him warm up _and_ enjoy the game simultaneously. Zayn'll let it be; the both of them don't need to be grumpy assholes.

It's just, Zayn—cut him some slack. _Please_ —always had a thing for uniforms. All types of uniforms. Whether an orchestra conductor or a firefighter or a construction worker. Zayn just has a thing for them and it hasn't gone away. And he really really needs it to go away.

The devil should've shown up by now, honestly. Zayn's been auctioning his soul for the last half hour. _Any_ deity or apparition should have appeared. Zayn's not picky.

But the men, these— _savages_ , more like. Simpletons, these....boobs. (Zayn's really cold, he can't think straight.) The players look really good. That's it. That's all Zayn has to say on that.

It's not.

Niall, looks really good. Niall Horan, Zayn categorizes, because his last name's on the back of his white jersey, and hockey gear should have their own runway show with how Niall's dressed.

He doesn't do much, since he mostly squats and occasionally tilts to the side or stomps his stick into the ice to stop the puck from entering the net. If Zayn's lucky Niall'll take his helmet off for a split second to wipe sweat off his forehead, clumpy blond hair sticking together when he brushes them aside.

The uniform isn't even that sexy, too many wide pads and not at his full height which makes Zayn think of the seven dwarves.

But Zayn shamefully watches from the top of a stranger's head when the game starts up again. Louis' too busy standing on the seat to pay mind, the way Zayn may be salivating in more than one way as the minutes tick and Niall's in his fucking element.

Zayn can't understand what's going on if someone put a blade to his neck, and neither does he want to, but he likes contrasts and nothing screams distinction than the paleness of Niall's neck next to his black long-sleeved undershirt.

Niall hasn't spotted Zayn yet which makes it all better and more exhilarating. And Zayn doesn't know what'll happen if Niall did find him. He might bust a nut if blue eyes focus on his but Zayn might also be cold enough that he'll need surgery to extract his penis from his body.

It's a win-win. Zayn chants this in his head to avoid disappointment.

There's a point in the game where Niall rises onto his feet swiftly, pulls his helmet off angrily and Zayn catalogs sweaty blond hair in slow motion before registering the redness on Niall's cheeks and nose. His lips are glistening, red from the chapstick, Zayn knows.

Why does he know this.

"Dear God," Zayn groans from behind his hands, 'cause Niall's messy eyebrows are creased in the middle with perspiration and he's obviously hollering something towards across the ice, pointing his stick and Zayn can read a lot of dirty words pouring from his mouth that he's never used. Zayn's guilty pleasure is this, from now on. He'll never admit it.

At the same he groans Louis screams, "That was a boarding! He fucking chucked him off the damn ice!"

There's a murmur throughout the bleachers and oh yeah, Zayn has to actually pay attention. On the other side of the rink there's a crowd of players, all surrounding a white jersey who's wobbling on his skates and then they're escorting him off the ice and Louis shrieks, "Penalty, you dick! Kick his ass out the game!" and Zayn's a bit scared for every person on the rink.

Except Niall. He's hot and all, but he can go fuck himself. And Zayn does not want to see that.

"You saw that dick move?" Louis asks him next, huffing down where Zayn's sitting. "The Center could've opened his skull on the ice because of that other player, the fuck is he doing?"

Okay, so someone is hurt, Zayn notes. And someone hurt him purposely. What the fuck, are they serious?

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I know right!"

Zayn rolls his eyes. Feels enraged for a whole other reason and doesn't feel guilty at all. This is such bullshit, this is unnecessary, this is—

Getting frisky on the ice rink.

Niall takes off the blocker on his forearm, rips off his gloves and the pads on his legs and he's skating towards his coach, handing off his things and throwing his helmet on the dry ground. There's a bit of a dispute between them, and Niall grips the back of his collar and raises it over his head, shakes the chest pad loose until he can drop it on the floor and put his sticky jersey back on.

Sticky is good. Zayn loves sticky, keep this up.

Niall's silent while he dresses in less gear, holds a different helmet loosely without a word and glides back to the middle of the rink.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Zayn whines when he realizes what's going on, the way Niall's immobile and has a taut mouth towards the red team. Hands slide down Zayn's face, a cry erupts in his throat as eyebrows pulls low over blue eyes and Zayn's going to die. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he repeats himself.

"I know right!" Louis shakes his shoulder. "I fucking know right! That's fucking Niall, Zayn! That's my bitch right there! Kick his ass, boy!" Louis hollers disbelief into the air, adds a jitter in his legs and raises his arms with everyone else when the referee reluctantly situates the players, waits for them to get in position before there's a whistle and wooden sticks are smacking into each other and there's no inbetween.

There's a lot of sliced ice in the noise and Zayn's neck hurts from looking back and forth and he loses track of Niall most of the time but then the game's over too soon—

Not soon _enough_ , and Fireproof wins by one point which is not impressive at all, sheesh.

Zayn looks away before Louis locks onto the unusual flush rising up his neck.

"Did you see that? Zayn, did you see that? Do you like it now, did you see Liam Payne? You think—”

"I saw Liam Payne," Zayn interrupts, lies. He tightly smiles when Louis keeps staring at him, coughs uncomfortably when Louis begins appearing insane.

"Did you see the couple of wheels Niall did at the end? I never knew he had it in him, that sick bastard."

"Uh huh." There are a lot of people walking about now, making their way out of the arena or getting a closer look at the players. Now that Zayn's on familiar grounds in his mind he can think straight. And yes, Niall was really lovely, looked very appealing to Zayn; like the latest piece from Dika Toolkit, but. Zayn has to swallow and come to grips with this, but there was nothing more.

Despite popular belief Zayn isn't shallow. And he cries with the part of him that will die by the night because a beautiful soul like Niall's is perpetually bound to the sin of hockey and shall burn forever in hell.

And now that he can think straight the only thing he feels for Niall, besides the lust thrumming in his egotistical veins, is putrid abhorrence.

"...didn't even know it was _him_ ," Louis laughs maniacally as they push their way. "He's always a goalie so I never paid mind to him, no offence. And his face is covered, how was I ever going to know that was Niall the whole time!"

"Yeah."

Louis isn't discouraged, simply sighs into the fresh air when they reach the dark parking lot and forms fists in glee. It's when they reach Louis' car does Lou remember, because Zayn never forgot.

"Oh yeah. Don't forget to take the blanket back to Niall."

"I threw up on it."

"No you didn't." Louis looks at Zayn perplexed, but mirth is still making him glow. "You left it in the car. I'll wait patiently, bro. Need a minute to breathe, anyway. That was one massive save at the end."

"Right," Zayn drawls, since he's stuck with no way out. Not when Louis' too happy to give up his fight and he throws the blanket over to Zayn. It doesn't smell like grass and coffee anymore, but Zayn made sure it didn't stink either. He was too scared to wash it in case permanent damage ensued. "Well," he says to no one, because Louis' in the car already, most likely tweeting. Zayn reminds himself he's driving tonight. "Okay, then."

Zayn knows the arena better than any of the players there, he's 72% sure of that. There's a door in the back that opens if you pull hard enough from the top latch and it leads directly into the lockers. So if Zayn uses that route he can be out in less than four minutes. But that may also include disrupting the other rodents in their natural habitat as they change from their sweaty uniforms.

No uniforms. Zayn shakes his head. Uniforms are the enemy from now on.

The remaining people mingling around are waiting to use the restroom or are in line to order another corndog from the shack that was supposed to close twenty minutes ago. Zayn mucks about for what seems like _ever_ , almost fifteen minutes of his personal time.

Close to eighteen minutes and reciting ATB's discography in his head, Zayn finds a walking figure going towards the door. It's the black shirt that catches Zayn's eye, the one he saw under Niall's jersey that makes him jog a bit to catch up.

He holds the door before it swings back to him roughly, and Zayn calls Niall's name for third time with no answer.

"The fuck, bro?" he asks, tapping Niall's shoulder with too much push before he's able to slow his pace down.

Niall stops in his tracks, turns around slowly with evident rage across his expression, like he was forced to hold a lemon warhead on his tongue and school his face from twisting up at the same time.

"What's up?" Niall asks monotonously, pulling an earbud from his ear and a resulting static derives from the bud hanging against Niall's chest. The black long sleeves of his shirt are tight around his wrists and tighter down his abdomen and waist, hem stopping above grey ball shorts that are loose on his hips.

It's a walking wet dream Zayn doesn't remember ever fantasizing about, from swelling biceps and a thin waist that shamelessly dives into thin hips. Zayn's dived into a wet dream he doesn't remember taking any part of.

"Here," Zayn says, blinks slowly for an uncommon moment to get his body working properly at a steady pace. Niall's answering lift of eyebrows shatters the effort, blue eyes puncturing the night sky and black asphalt.

"Here, what?"

"What? Oh." Zayn offers the lazy grip on the blanket, fidgets after a while until Niall sighs and reaches for it.

"You came all this way just for this?"

"I saw you play," Zayn shrugs, stuffing his hands in his sweater to deflect the oncoming wind. "My friend, Louis, he brought me."

"Yeah, I met him." Right. Zayn should thank him for that, but the coldness in Niall's face could rival the weather. So appreciation doesn't seem like it'd be taken.

"You were good," Zayn nods. He's....telling the truth. And vows to cut his tongue off the moment he enters his kitchen.

"Yeah? Would've been better if me fucked up knee behaved."

"No," he shakes his head, needs Niall to cast off the bored pout. "No, you were, like. You were," _graceful_ , Zayn thinks, because it's one of the only descriptions he knows in relation to an ice performance that'll partially fit with Niall. _Elegant. Alert. A natural_. "You played your part."

"Yep." That's all Niall offers, and Zayn thinks maybe the scuffle on the ice is still biting Niall in all the important places because he doesn't _look_ natural, not without the smallest hint of a smile, at least.

"You good?"

"Never better."

Zayn scoffs, rolls his eyes with it. "Yeah, okay. I'm gonna go, nice seeing you, mate."

"Same."

Zayn comes to the conclusion that he doesn't hate hockey, nor the players; it's a freak of nature he'll never be able to understand, so he'll leave it at that. He also realizes he doesn't hate them because hate requires some type of emotion. Some drive or internal fire to edge you on.

Zayn feels nothing for them, holds nothing for them.

___

_ii._

_And I could easily lose my mind_

_The way you kiss me will work each time_

_Pulling me back into the flames_

_And I'm burning up again_

_I'm burning up_

___

Zayn skates to a short Playlist on his iPod. It mostly contains Ólafur Arnalds and Hans Zimmer, but there's a little bit of John Powell and one Bach piece that he added on a whim. The whole thing is only almost thirty minutes long but takes close to an hour to go through from his multiple lazy breaks; and Kareem still hasn't gotten there.

He's been holding off training with Zayn, and whenever Zayn would text or call for a reason why he wouldn't receive anything back solid enough for an answer.

So he texted his trainer on his walk over to the rink to meet him there and he's still not here. Whatever. Zayn needs to catch up with all the skating he's missed.

He performs to _Brim_ , free styles his way around the chalked ice and regrets never taking advantage of Simon's offers to teach him how to operate the Zamboni machine. It might not be that hard. Hopefully. Zayn hopes so.

Zayn doesn't remember ever being so sore, has to stop in the middle of a spiral and simply sits on his ass on the ice as he huffs in the biting air, lungs compressed too tight and a cramp pulling something inside his stomach from the meal he ate barely two hours ago. What the fuck is he thinking.

His plan is to jump into the last chorus, maybe complete his earlier move if he's capable of it but the music's dimmed and he finds Kareem clapping slowly, set in pace as he leans against the short wall by the door Zayn's skating to.

"What's up with you?" Zayn immediately says, wiping under his nose and pulling his hair up. He misses the sides of his hair occasionally, but at times like this he doesn't when he can easily manage it with a thin hairpiece that won't break on him.

"Well, hello to you too," Kareem nods, one side of his mouth quirking up.

"You just decided to blow me off?"

"I never said that."

"Yeah, you didn't say anything."

"I've learned that no news is good news."

Zayn stays silent, takes heavy steps towards the closest bleacher to untie his skates. Fuck the skate braces. If he's honest with himself, he kind of gotten used to laying around, eating flavored potato chips and dip with Harry on his couch with no schedule besides the late shifts at the 24-hour library.

But now that he's back on the ice he understands the sudden fits he'd get when something didn't feel right. _This_ feels right, everything just feels good in a way no one else would comprehend and he doesn't want them to. This is _his_ , no matter how snobby he sounds. He'll never let this go.

"I'm not training you anymore."

Zayn stops in the middle of scratching his ankle, border of his sock bunched around his wrist when he looks up at Kareem.

"I don't need to train you anymore, Zayn."

"What do you mean?"

Kareem laughs. Nothing loud, he doesn't throw his head back. Just this soft amiable chuckle as he looks down and goes to sit by Zayn.

"Zayn, do you know who you are?"

In response Zayn just looks at him, moves his jaw around in thought and comes up empty. He knows it's a question Kareem's looking for an answer to, an answer from him. But the only thing that comes into his head is his name and it doesn't seem like a right time to be a smart aleck. So he shrugs, receives another hearty laugh.

"You're this city's Golden Boy for a reason. You don't do what you do and still have a trainer breathing down your neck."

"Sure you do. Look at Johnny Weir or. Tenley Albright."

"You don't need me. I thought you'd been realize that."

"So you're just quitting? You're—” Zayn licks his lips, finds his skates' laces tangled up where they sit between his feet. "You're gonna leave me, is that it?"

"Zayn, oh my God." Now Kareem laughs loudly, pats Zayn's back while his eyes squint. "Calm down, mate. Slow down. I'm not going anywhere, I'll still be around. Just don't think you need someone telling you what you already know."

"I can barely perform a triple-spin."

"When you wake up that morning with a hangover, you can't."

"My jumps are uncoordinated."

"When you're being an arse." Kareem leans over, pulls on a piece of Zayn's hair until it sneaks out the band and hangs loosely over his face. "I've seen you perform two pieces right now, Zayn. You were flawless, and I don't say that all the time. It made me even more sure of my decision."

"Damn. Can't get rid of me that fast, then?" Zayn mutters, tying his laces correctly and getting ready to get up and find his sneakers.

"No, m'not talking about that. Perrie, come over here!" he hollers.

There's a girl shuffling down from where the audio systems are, dropping harshly and fluidly and strolling towards them with a bag hanging from her gloved hand; the material for the fingers is ripped.

"Sup," she introduces herself, chucking Zayn's iPod towards him. He catches it instantly. "Heard a lot 'bout you. But who didn't."

Zayn appraises the blonde girl quickly. Wintry blue eyes under thick lashes, full mouth colored with gloss and a sharp curve with the way she's leaning on one hip. She looks at ease in the distilled pumping air of the space, sleeves of her cotton sweater bundled around her elbows and track sneakers placed carelessly on her feet.

She's a figure skater, Zayn concludes.

"Zayn, this is Perrie. Another student of mine. My second best."

"For the meantime," she interrupts smoothly, turning her attention to Kareem. Zayn thinks all she needs is smacking gum to complete her image.

"Right," Kareem smiles. "So should I or you tell him what we came up with?”

“I need a partner for my next competition. And I want to win.”

Zayn waits for her to elaborate, feels itchy in the silence that follows until Kareem sighs and rubs his forehead tiredly.

“What she means is if you'd be willing to train her and _with_ her for her upcoming contest in July. You have a couple months, which can be enough time if you both work on it."

"Um." Zayn presses his lips together, registers Perrie analyzing her manicure patiently while Kareem looks on hopefully. He might as well have sparkles in his enlarged eyes with his hands folded together against his chest. "Yeah, okay." Zayn nods, licks his bottom lip before biting it with furrowed brows. "I'll do it. But you really think I _can_ do it?" he asks, can't help it. He needs Kareem's reassurance right now.

"You're the country's greatest figure skater under 25," Perrie groans, dropping her polished nails to drum against her hip. "You won two silvers and a bronze in the last Olympics and you're all anyone talks about who's remotely interested in figure skating in the country. Does that make you feel cocky now?"

Zayn gulps and opens his mouth repeatedly like a fish.

"I need you to be cocky," she continues. "I need you to be arrogant as fuck and show off all you've got because I want to beat this." She inhales fully, yawns into the back of her gloves. "Also I've been following you on Instagram forever. Can you follow me back now that we're acquainted?"

It's settled. Zayn has to train someone and he's not freaking out as much as he thought.

 

Jonah's called twice, a third time in the middle of the whole arrangement between the three. Zayn did text back, reluctantly; a _you called?_ Obvious, laconic, to the point. Zayn hoped for a silent phone afterwards, but two texts came in consecutively. _Hey, wassup?_ , and _How you've been :)_

Zayn didn't reply.

Zayn walks to his and Louis' apartment after that, too sore to continue his exercise and after Perrie informs Zayn that Zayn had texted in the middle of her training with Kareem. After Kareem promises to keep in touch and to make it to their July performance, they're out the door. So that's that.

Perrie and Zayn are quiet, but Zayn is listening to music from his earphones and Perrie has massive headphones hanging around her neck, phone in her hand as she scrolls away.

Zayn likes her so far, can't remember the last time he felt comfortable with someone he didn't have to exchange dialogue with to avoid discomfort.

"I'm gonna, um. Go back to mine now. You?"

"Going with you," she answers easily. A couple rocks in her way are kicked swiftly, and she looks up to Zayn prepared for a rejection of some sort.

"Like. You mean—”

"For the project, of course."

There's no room for argument, and Zayn barely knows her enough to give her a grand tour of his apartment. But if Kareem knows her, she may be plenty sane.

"So you're like, humbly asking, a fan of mine?" They're about five doors down from his place.

"Of course," she nods. "I'd be surprised if you weren't a fan of yourself, either."

Zayn blushes, feels like he's being scolded with how hot his neck feels.

"Hey." She bumps his shoulder, smirks with her eyebrows pinched in the middle. "That was a compliment. And you have every right to boast about your talent, Zayn."

"Thank you." He smiles, holds in a giggle he'll never reveal. "I'll keep that in mind."

He unlocks his door, doesn't bother knocking when both Harry and Louis are most likely playing Life or Trouble on the rug in the living room.

"Back so soon?" Louis looks over at him quickly, pushes the button and watches the dice jump. Trouble, it is. Perrie's still taking off her shoes by the door, hidden behind the short wall that makes up the walkway.

"I don't have a trainer anymore."

Harry and Louis whip their heads toward him, so fast hair follows their sudden movement and hits across their cheeks. " _What?_ " Louis squawks as Harry maternally asks, "What do you mean?"

"And I have a student."

"A partner," Perrie corrects, shooting her gaze up at him when she makes her appearance visible. Noticing a crowd in front of them, she smiles softly, tilts her head slightly and clearly says, "Hello, I'm Perrie. It's nice to meet you."

Zayn has whiplash with how rapidly they practically adopt her, not even a complete turn of the clock and Louis' petting her hair down, Harry too busy baking cookies while something simmers on the stove and okay, Zayn's been here longer, thank you very much.

He doesn't mind, because when he and Perrie go into his room a little later, he's comfortable enough for a little bit of banter.

"Think they like you more than me, don't know how to feel about it."

"Well, that's fine with me." She scrunches up her face playfully, lets her hair fall around her shoulders as she dives into his bed. "Think my friends would take you in before you can state your full name, they adore you."

"Who said you can lay on my bed?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she gets up instantly, sits on the edge. "I just tripped into it."

"You lying ass," Zayn laughs, bridge of his nose wrinkled with it. He laughs so much he has trouble unlocking his laptop.

A couple of hours roll by and they come to the conclusion that they're not going to dance to a typical piece. Nothing Bach, _definitely_ no Mozart nor Tchaikovsky. Zayn mulls over starting with _Flight of the Bumble Bee_ , something known to steer everyone thinking something predictable will hatch until—

" _Bam!_ " Zayn claps his hands together, startles Perrie who drops the textbook she was looking through. "We transend into another track no one's performed to."

She pinches one side of her nose. "I don't know. I'm really tired of dancing to songs of the dead."

Zayn laughs through puffed cheeks, hums while he scrolls through his iTunes. "Well, was there a performance you saw that you really liked the song playing? We could Shazam it?"

"What was the song you skated to last year?" she mutters, half attentive to the drawing on Zayn's wall. He drew it. A sketched lattice with wilted flowers crisscrossing over, flames bordering it while paint drips from the stems. With a few Sharpie markers Zayn goes buckwild. "You know, the one for the Pre-Season? In New York?"

Zayn performed twice that time, if they're both thinking of the same day. "When I wore the pleated vest?" he asks. "With a bit of blue in the stitching? Or the coral on beige pants?"

"The first one?" She lays her head on his pillow, traces a few letters with her nail on her thigh. "The beginning was boring, no offence," she cringes cautiously, "but then the tempo just, like. Picked up out of nowhere. I was watching it in my room, almost cried when you performed that _double_ triple jump."

(Zayn doesn't tell her that that's his motive, to start a predictable dance that'll catch everyone off guard when he soon throws himself into it. He doesn't critique his own skill but he knows it's something to see.)

Awe is pouring through her voice fluidly, Zayn may have to swim to leave his room. He holds back the gentle mushiness in his chest, smiles gratefully at her in thanks. "Think you're talking about _Mountains_ by Zimmer. From the Interstellar soundtrack."

"You like that movie?"

"Fucking love it," Zayn says, as if Perrie accused him of something unpleasant. He doesn't add that his nuts almost exploded with suspense by the time Cooper found himself in the physical dimension of time. "I'm really into that stuff, like. Astronomy and," he shrugs. Only remembers bitterly the last time he talked of this to someone and.

Yeah, Niall left something bitter and moldy in his breastbone, something that only holds on tighter each time Zayn tries to shake it off.

"Hey, lovelies," Louis knocks on the open door, leans against it. "There's a party going on over Nick's, something mellow, too. He invited us, wanna come?"

Zayn looks to Perrie, receives an answer in her bored shrug. "Nah, we'll stay." He raises an eyebrow when he looks at Louis again, waits until Louis fidgets annoyingly after a few seconds. "Why're you going, though?"

"If you're asking what I think you're asking," Louis huffs, "Yes, Nick is single. And I'm going to happily keep him company tonight if it eventually comes to that. I wouldn't fuck around if he was still with Gordo or— Ugh, fuck off, Zayn, stay out of my business," he yells while walking away.

"Don't leave us!"

"You're not going, anyway," Louis replies.

***

Harry and Louis come back around one in the morning, which isn't _early_ , but earlier than Zayn thought. He also thought Harry would be coming back alone, too.

"How was it?" Zayn yawns when he meets them in the kitchen, stretched-out sweater hanging over his frame. The drink Harry brought back with him is good, cold in Zayn's mouth and warm down his throat. He finishes it before Harry can get any more.

Perrie left about fifteen minutes ago, and wouldn't let Zayn walk her to the bus stop despite how dark it is outside. So Zayn's waiting up until he receives the text that she's okay.

"Pitiful," Louis answers. He's shaking the last bit of cereal into a bowl. "Some girl threw up so everyone had to go home."

"Thought it was a chill party?"

"Oh, it was. She actually had a stomach virus. Can you believe it?"

"He's just mad that he didn't stay over," Harry informs, curling into the wooden stool by the table. "I couldn't find him 'til we had to leave. He and Nick were probably, I don't fucking know, riding each other over the moonlight. Creating new words to describe human noises. Finding a way to make male pregnancy possible."

"You need a filter, and you need one now."

" _Harry's_ just mad that the girl he wanted to go home with was the one sick," Louis spits, stabbing a spoon into his meal harshly. Milks jumps onto the counter.

Zayn can't help the chuckle he releases, a hand over his mouth before Harry's looking at him. "Sorry. Sorry, that's not funny."

"So what's up with Perrie?" Louis asks, flicking hair off his forehead.

"What's up with you and Nick, huh?" Zayn counters, crossing his arms with a dramatic purse of his mouth as he moves his head in faux attitude, Harry adding a, " _Mmmmmhm, girl_ ," where he's perched.

"Guys, we didn't even do anything. He showed me around, made fun of friends that swore they had game, which isn't even cute, and just talked." Zayn and Harry don't drop their façade, so Louis only rolls his eyes and repeats himself. "Seriously, is anything going on with Perrie?"

"Okay, let me know when my pal Louis comes back around. But in case _you're_ the Louis, need I remind you I'm gay. And if you mean this 'going on' as in her being my partner for a future performance and a girl I met just hours ago," Zayn stresses, "then that's all there is to it.”

It’s silent between them, only the crunch of Louis' chews and the whirring of the refrigerator until Harry confesses, “Okay, I’m sorry but Louis thinks Perrie reminds him of that blond guy—”

“ _Harry!_ ”

“—and he thinks it’d be nice if you give her a chance since you didn’t give him a chance.” Harry gulps in air, looks up to find two faces patronizing him with fiery glares in their eyes. “Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, ducking his head. He swivels in his chair until his back is turned to them in defeat.

“You met Niall once, Lou,” Zayn grumbles when he turns to him, fatigue weighing in his head. He rubs his eyes, struggles with retaining the heaviest eye roll that’ll put him to sleep.

“Uh, I’ve met him four times,” Louis holds up the respective number of fingers over his face, an act of defence in case Zayn gets physical. He might shove him, wack the back of his head. Poke his belly roughly.

“What the fuck, Lou?”

“He’s best mates with Liam,” Louis whispers, as if Liam is in their vicinity, you never know when it comes to the love interests of Louis. “And Niall’s a right laugh. Has this smoulder down to a tee, yet is always smiling he’s going to have permanent laughter lines when he’s thirty.”

Zayn can’t picture his face smiling. (Of course he can, has his incredible laugh in the mix in his head. But Zayn’s a brute right now so nothing will get past him.) He only sees the deadpan look from that night, the resigned conversation he gave in his fair share, the annoyed tension in his jaw.

Even his body, laid pale under dark clothing Zayn can remember almost as much as his laugh and the cherry on his lips, held a bone too taut for liking. And Zayn wouldn’t admit it but Niall looked down at him the way Zayn thinks of hockey, and the players, and the whole community of it. And it was so ugly Zayn couldn’t get the image out of his head if he wanted to.

“Don’t use Niall.” Zayn cuts Louis off, didn’t pay attention to his last few words, anyway. There’s a lull, Zayn can’t pinpoint a noise to focus on in the silence that follows. Even the fridge is quiet. “Like. If it was anybody, I wouldn’t. I’d tell you the same.” Zayn locks his glare with Louis, doesn’t falter in the slightest. But neither does Louis; he only sighs and sticks his tongue out afterwards.

“I’m not. I’m better than that, Z. And I like his company.” His voice dwindles until it wraps around the both of them only. “You would too, if you just gave it a try.”

Zayn thinks he did give him a try, an impression of one that night. It’s not a big deal. Zayn’s not hung over about someone maybe catching an attitude with him. It’s _really_ not a big deal. But something inside Zayn took a part of it personal. And Zayn doesn’t hold onto petty things strongly, _at all_ , honestly. But he did this time and for some reason he won’t question it. Would rather let the ripple of turmoil run its course before leaving his system with no evidence to bear its stay.

"Um, now that I think of it," Harry says, returning to the group. His eyes focus on everything but Zayn, pale hands wrapped around each other in his lap. "I might've sort of probably made out with the sick girl, before I knew she was sick."

Zayn and Louis laugh immediately, point offensive fingers at Harry until they purposely have tears in their eyes. Harry remains silent, which only strengthens the laughter roaring around them.

"Bro, you're gonna be sick as fuck tomorrow," Zayn wheezes, Louis resorting to giggle into his palm.

"I know right." Harry abruptly begins to laugh along, this fake and loud sound that has Zayn and Louis worried until, "And so are you since you drank what I gave you."

The only one who isn't laughing by the end of the night is Zayn.

***

Zayn and Harry wake up around five in the morning, find themselves taking turns with the toilet as they heave their insides into the bowl.

“What the—” Zayn’s cut off by another upload, arches his back and hears Harry laughing haphazardly. “Why, Harry?” he croaks. “Why the _fuck?_ ”

“You look like a cat when your back does that thing,” Harry continues to laugh, but it’s pitiful and his face’s etched in pain and he’s holding onto the spare bucket he found under the sink for dear life.

Louis wakes up for a morning piss before planning to go back to bed, found them sleeping huddled together on the floor a few hours later. _Dangerously In Love_ was playing from Harry's iPad, something to cover up all the ugly going on. Or that's what they try to tell Louis amongst all the sickness in their throats.

“What the fuck is this?” he rasps, rubbing his eyes like it’s a usual morning.

Zayn wakes up, black hair plastered flatly to one side of his head with crinkled eyelashes brimming squinted eyes. “I think we got the stomach virus.”

Harry shivers under his blanket, brown hair oily and wrapped around his face as he snores. “Mmfphscher, put the fire closer,” he garbles, subconsciously getting closer to Zayn.

“Well, then,” Louis replies, leaving the door open when he leaves.

Zayn thinks this is it, this is how he dies. His last few moments will be spent reminiscing over the good of mankind, how the good die young.

“Come on, lads,” Louis yawns ten minutes later, leaning against the doorway when Zayn looks up from his madeup bed on the bathroom floor. “I made you guys soup. Some crackers to dip while it cools down and we have a gallon of apple juice.” He extends his arms to the side. “Go knock yourselves out.”

“Lou. Lou, I love you so much.” Zayn’s embarrassed that he might literally cry. He gets up immediately, makes sure he keeps his distance but bows respectfully in thanks. “I can kiss your feet.”

“Mm, no thanks.” Louis’ left to wake up Harry, and Zayn sits on the couch with a blanket over his frame and a warm bowl of chicken noodle in his hands that surprisingly doesn’t upset his stomach any more. There’s talking, Louis still by the door.

“Yes, Harry, your food’s on the coffee table."

“You’re a saint, Louis. Saint Louis, you’re an angel.” Harry scuffles over to Louis, goes to hug him when Louis puts his hands up.

“I have plans today, so nuh uh. My face cannot be throwing up today.”

“My life’s in your debt, then.”

“Flattering.”

Zayn and Harry converse lightly over their meal, fall asleep after their bowls are wiped clean, legs tangled together in the middle.

When Zayn wakes up later, he feels just good enough that he can clean himself up, wash the grime off his hair and let it flop over his face carelessly. Today’s a day to just lay around, he knows it. Nothing better than that.

He learns Harry left a bit after noon, denied Louis’ offers to drive him since he wanted to walk the sickness out of his body, whatever that meant. So Zayn takes short naps on his bed while HAIM’s debut album plays from his stereo at a soft volume, enough that it doesn’t stir him when he eventually drifts off multiple times.

“Knock Knock,” a feminine voice chirps when the album’s in the middle of its second turn. It’s Perrie, wearing black shorts with boots up to her calfs, loose tank top on that shows her purple bra straps. “So you’re alive, after all.”

“And so are you,” he smiles, words muffled into his pillow. He slouches into a sitting position, blanket tucked around him as she makes sure the ends are safely folded.

“Just barely,” she pouts. “Got cramps. Might be getting my period which fucking _blows_. Just when I thought we could finally skate together and we’re both out of whack.”

“That does blow,” he rubs his nose, makes enough room between them that she can sit comfortably yet not risk touching him. “You wanted to skate with me before?”

“Uh, duh. Since I was like, twelve. You made me pursue the beautiful art that is figure skating. I’m a changed woman, thanks to you.”

“Aw.” Zayn purposely frowns, fakes a sniff and wipes under his eyes.

“Come on, none of that. Woman up. We got some work to do.”

They list their strengths and weaknesses. Zayn, modestly, doesn’t have a lot of weaknesses, always held upper body strength and grew supple muscles in his legs and hips throughout the years of training. Perrie lacks restraint and couldn’t complete a set of pull ups if forced to but is flexible wherever Zayn isn’t.

“Okay, so like. We’re limited to four jumps?” Perrie nods. “And how many spins?”

Perrie skims over the requirements online, fingerpad scrolling down the laptop mouse pad. “Well, since it’s a free skate, they’re allowing us three. But it includes a death spiral, cool,” she says in contentment.

Zayn jots that down, doodles tattered three-dimensional letters in the margins. “I read through the article, and they’re giving us some leeway and extending our time to four and a half minutes. Think that’s cool.”

“It is,” she cheers.

As they settle back into quietness and Zayn hears her clicking away on the laptop, he feels her socked feet nudging against his ankle.

“Think I found the song.”

“Yeah?” He sits up and puts his back against the headboard. “That was fast. What is it?”

Her nails tap against the laptop quickly, brows met in the middle as she glares at the screen. “Well I might’ve docked your library onto my email yesterday,” she begins to smirk, “and was mucking around and I found this song that I liked. And I was thinking we could cut back a minute and stop the track at 4:20? Let the melody die down a few seconds before and shit.”

“Cool.” Zayn likes that she’s taking this seriously, that he isn’t partnered with a couch potato or dimwit. “Let’s hear it.”

The opening tune plays, and Zayn smirks with his eyes closed, knows the first verse starts a minute into it. “This is a rap song.”

“I know.”

“You might as well piss on the judges.”

“They’re always looking for creativity and. I was thinking while this song played last night. There're a lot of good moments in this song for the steps we’re going to perform.”

“You think?” he mindlessly asks, more attuned to _PCH_ as it continues to play.

“Yeah,” she answers just as airily. Zayn’s sure she’s getting swept into the song too, picturing which spins and what sequences they’ll throw themselves into when the time comes.

The song plays enough that Perrie moves onto her phone after a while, rubs her stomach consolingly as she groans in pain.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” she speaks, struggling into a sitting position. “See if I got my period.”

A doorbell rings a minute later, and Zayn whines with his head thrown back as Louis hollers, “I’m getting dressed, open the door!”

“I’m getting dressed, open the door,” he mocks loudly, more tongue into it and too much flared nostrils. He walks to the door with a slump, hikes his body over while his soul drags along his feet behind him.

Hair frizzy with no products, face the color of sick and his most worn clothes hanging over his frail body, Zayn opens the door.

And shuts down, finds Niall standing on the other side of the door in one piece, more chipper than usual.

“Hi, Zayn,” he waves, a bit gentle. Too gentle. Zayn’s suspicious.

Zayn’s going to eat every inch of his door, he’s sure of it. He’s sure he needs to bite into something, though. Maybe even someone. He should bite Niall, between the space of—

No. No biting. He’s sick, anyway. Wait a minute... Niall will be sick, too.

“What’s up?” Zayn sighs. A robot has more personality than him. “What do you need?”

“Uh.” Niall rubs his nose, blue eyes assessing Zayn from head to toe. “Are you alright, Zayn?”

“I’m sick, actually. Come inside, maybe we can share germs.”

Yes, Zayn flirted. Wrapped it up snugly in an insult and sent it to Niall harshly. Smacked it over his face.

He looks too good.

Niall’s wearing a jacket, some black material that has denim as sleeves. Legs swaddled in beige pants, red shirt dipped enough that chest hair shows and—

Chest hair. Zayn doesn’t like chest hair. Zayn didn’t before. He—

Fuck this shit.

“So what you want?”

“You know,” Niall reaches into his pockets, pats around until he finds his phone and taps accordingly. “I read a horoscope the other day, yeah?”

"You came all this way just for this?"

 _Niall's_ original words. The same words he used the night Zayn came to the hockey game. They ring louder than the cars honking outside. Louder than Zayn’s ever heard Niall laugh the handful of times. Louder than the cracking ribcage holding a beating heart in Zayn’s chest. And Zayn doesn't _hurt_ , the thing in his chest doesn't inflict any type of pain over him; but he gets that discomfort edge in his system that he knows won't quickly disappear.

Niall looks up from his screen, locks eyes to Zayn’s for a moment. He moves his mouth, as if words are tipping over the wax on his lips, ready to form sounds and meaning. But he closes it after a moment, snaps his gaze away and raises his eyebrows.

“Um, no, actually. But while I’m here I should take advantage, right?” he smirks. The dimple plays on his cheek, toys with the flush riding up Zayn’s face and no. No, Zayn can’t let this happen.

“What the fuck, Niall.”

“Just listen to this, okay,” he clears his throat, eyebrows in position low over his eyes. “Capricorns will have a bad week, filled with ups and downs. If you bump into one, make them smile. They’ll appreciate it.”

“I don’t appreciate any of this, to be honest.”

“C’mon, Zaynie. Cut me some slack.” His Adam’s apple jumps when he swallows, and Zayn only follows the movement because it’s a little blurry without his medicated glasses and he wanted to make sure there wasn’t a bug crawling on Niall’s throat.

There are also a few freckles trickling down the skin, disappearing into the shirt. But of course Zayn’s vision is too blurry to spot any of this.

“I want to apologize, actually.”

Zayn’s intent glare shoots up, finds Niall already looking at him calmly.

“Eh. Okay?” The _For what?_ is heard.

“M’not stupid, Zayn. I acted like a knob last time, right?” He seems to wait for Zayn’s answer, goes quiet. But when Zayn stays silent he exhales and diverts his gaze to Zayn’s shoulder, turns to him again in a second. “I don’t apologize often. Probably never. So can you, like? Hear me out?”

“Wow, you have manners. I’m proud of you. You added apologies to your list of tricks, too?”

“You know, I always thought you were quiet. And you’re really not.”

“People confuse being quiet with being shy. I need to get a feel of someone first. And I don’t care how I am with you.”

“You hate me for no goddamn reason,” Niall retorts, gives a loud chuckle to balance it out. “Jesus Christ, Zayn. Are you hearing yourself? Wait, don’t answer that.”

He walks up the last step, doesn’t push his way into the apartment but hovers close enough that Zayn has to back away, leading to Niall eventually stepping inside fully.

Zayn can smell the chapstick, a layer of sweetness softening his aftershave. It smells really good, Zayn wants it.

Wait. Like, he wants the _product_ , um. The product, to buy. For himself.

“We’re in a bad place in our relationship, don’t you think?”

“Listen, mate. There’s no relationship of any sort going on here. The cat across the street has a relationship with me. The fucking,” Zayn gestures carelessly, “discarded newspaper in the bin has a relationship with me.”

“That really bothers me,” Niall says evenly, looking at Zayn. “And maybe if I find out why, it won’t. Maybe if I don’t, it’ll still eat at me. I don’t fucking know,” he chuckles. “But you know, Zayn? I don’t quit.”

“You sound like a fuckboy who can’t take no for an answer.”

“Fine fine fine. I’ll back up. You’re gonna miss me, though, Zaynie Babe. I know it.”

“Okay.”

There’s a slammed door behind them, both turning as Perrie screeches.

“What the fuck, I do have my period!” she hollers. “Zayn, where are you? What are we supposed to do now? What— Oh.”

“It’s okay, Perrie.” Zayn rubs his face, finds her standing in the opening. “We’ll work it out. S’just for a few days.”

“Hello,” she greets herself, tender smile on display. “And you are?”

“Leaving, actually. But my name’s Niall.”

Zayn swivels back to him. Niall’s looking back at him, and Zayn had a nasty remark on his tongue, maybe a little warning, but it’s slipped from his mind. Everything slips, really. Even the noise in the room slips into the cracks until a deafening silence roars and Zayn can only stare back, try to interpret the sudden change of Niall’s features.

The previous little smile that toyed with the corners of his mouth is wiped away. His lips are thinner as he presses them tightly together, blue eyes devoid of the constant mirth they drown everyone in. Nostrils flared for a moment before Niall breathes in to sigh deeply.

Zayn can’t evaluate his expression for too long, when Louis pushes past him and hugs Niall, knocks him back till he has to take a step to avoid tipping over.

“Oh, Nialler! You’re here to save me, aren’t you.”

What. Is Louis seriously just gonna—

Zayn guffaws, "Your plans are with _him?_ " at the same time Niall says, “That’s right, Lou,” smiling tightly. Finally does he look away from Zayn, finds Louis zipping up his sweater. “Are we leaving?”

“Didn’t Zayn offer you something to drink?” Louis looks at Niall’s empty hands, glares at Zayn when the blond answers no. “Well. He has manners, trust me. Boy’s just sick at the moment. Chronic diarrhea and all.”

Zayn is going to eat his way into an underground confidential organization, never show his face above the surface ever again.

“Seriously, Louis?”

“Oof,” Niall voices, face bunching up in sorrow. “Explosive stuff.”

“We’re not talking about this. That is a lie.”

“It’s fine, Z.” Niall waves him off good-naturedly. Smirks lightly at him when he tucks his hands into his back pockets. “Don’t care how you are with me, right?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Anyways, we’re leaving. Bye, Zayn.” Louis kisses his cheek, throws a kiss over his shoulder to Perrie. “Take care of each other, kids. Don’t go crazy.”

“Yeah, not too crazy,” Niall repeats, following after Louis with slow steps. “So, um. We’ll, like. See each other after this, right? No hard feelings? Slate’s clean for the meantime?”

Zayn sighs through his nose, folds his arms over his chest in a relaxed manner. “We always do, anyway.”

“Cool.” Niall nods, bites his bottom lip. “See you. And don’t go crazy while I’m gone, yeah?”

He seems to mean it. Zayn can only push his lips together, moves them around and Niall laughs. Raises his hand in farewell before he’s out the door.

“He wasn’t very pleasant.”

“No, Perrie.” Zayn grabs the blanket he left on the couch, brings it with him towards his room. “He’s not so pleasant.”

“He’s sort of a dick.” She’s focused on his skateboard, neglected for sometime by the corner of his room. Maybe she’ll nurture it back to health.

“Mm, no, Pez. Not a dick, though.”

***

Zayn has more work at the library than usual, squeezing in late mornings and the occasional afternoons if need be. It's extra money, it's silent while he's surrounded by millions of worlds he can sneak into at any moment he pleases, and the only bother that's thrown his way is the once-in-a-while child who shyly asks him for help over at the computers.

Besides that, Zayn sits against the book cart and gets up whenever a manager walks by to set the same book back on its shelf. He does switch his spots frequently, can't spend all the hours in the back by the churning heater. (Though he tries.)

He's rereading Ender's Game for the millionth (hmm, eighth?) time, novel resting open on his palm as he plucks paperbacks from the crate and stands them in the correct order, based on genre and _then_ author. At the part where Ender and Valentine converse on the lake, he's too immersed in the book, with the way Valentine's telling Ender that if he _doesn't_ try, then he _will_ fail, that he doesn't notice the presence by him.

"Um, hey."

Zayn drops the book, immediately shoots his hand down to grab the first hardback as he tunes his mind to appropriately do his _job_ , that it takes a brief moment to look over innocently.

And find Jonah staring back sheepishly at him.

"Ha, you dropped this."

Jonah bends down to pick it up easily, holds the very edge of the spine as he passes it back to Zayn and Zayn should appreciate this. Should appreciate his efforts that he's giving him the space Zayn unspokenly craved after they broke up, but, like. Jonah's _here_. So all the wasted aggravation about forcing himself to be gracious over the little things diminishes by the time it takes him to dog-ear the page he stopped on.

"What's up?" Zayn smiles, _really_ into stacking the books, suddenly. Wow, who knew all these books could go here? Sweet, right? "Need help looking for something?"

"No, I'm good." Jonah rubs his mouth, heavy class ring catching the sunlight from the window near the top of the wall. Zayn remembers wearing that ring constantly, like a badge, something to show off. He also remembers he couldn't separate his fingers that much, lest the band would slip off. It's happened enough times.

Jonah surveys the shelf besides Zayn in silence, black button down firm over his scrawny torso. His complexion's the same, dark and a bit splotchy in the heat. Like the Crayola chestnut-coloreda crayon Zayn used excessively as a child; after he learned it was okay to be a darker color of skin.

"I'm performing down at the university. Couple original tracks of mine, actually," Jonah notes offhandedly. He picks up a book near the top, skims through it loosely before tucking it under his arm. Zayn swallows the biting scoff in his throat; Jonah's read one complete book, and that was only because Zayn dared him.

Instead Zayn asks, "Really?" and makes sure he _sounds_ interested. And even though he's not, Jonah doesn't deserve Zayn fucking with him. "That's sick, bro. When?"

Jonah cringes, and Zayn has to backtrack a second until, oh. Right. That awkward Kik conversation a few months back, the thoughtless ' _Check this cover out, bro! Sick guitar solo_ ' and the ' _Please dont call me bro. Ever_ ' Zayn received in return. He had to get back in touch with a mutual friend to unearth the story behind that. Zayn wasn't surprised at all when he found out why.

"Tomorrow night." If Jonah remembers that typed conversation, he gives no inkling. Simply faces Zayn until he's done emptying the crate. They're roughly the same height, only since Jonah's bangs are styled high this time. "You should come," he adds softly. Brown eyes are boring into Zayn's, and there was a time Zayn wanted to get lost in them.

Now he purses his lips and fights through a smile, wobbles through stating, "Sure, Jo. I'll make it if I'm free. Promise."

"All I needed to hear, really."

Jonah's not subtle, and Zayn really needs him to be.

***

He whines over the bar in front of him to Harry, complains as much as he can while Harry nods comfortingly and simultaneously wipes the bottom of the blender's jar until he's whisked away to take someone else's order.

It's times like these that Zayn wants to give anyone a nasty eye, wants to cuddle Harry closer to him and fend off predators who'll ask his best friend to make them a smoothie to go with their club sandwich. Harry's _his_. Louis' already been captured by Niall, unable to flee the tempting claws he's sunk into his other best friend's skin.

Zayn hates Niall more than Jonah, and that's saying a lot.

"And he like, really wants me to go, I think?" Zayn continues, ending it with a question mark as he twirls a straw in his drink. Harry made him something special, off the menu. It tastes like key lime and coconut, a dash of cocoa powder somewhere in there. Zayn's going to marry Harry, he's sure of it.

"Well," Harry shrugs, a _what can you do_ brushing his shoulders. "He's still not over you."

"What if he performs _Zach?_ " Zayn asks. It's Jonah's first original track, his most popular with his little groupies. And despite Jonah denying it, Zayn knows it's about him. Like, _come on_. "It's so sad, Harry. I can't have that on my conscience."

"So don't go. Might bring over your mystery guy tomorrow, actually. Then you'll have plans booked."

"Absolutely not."

There's a boy Harry knows that he's certain is _perfect_ for Zayn. Some tall guy with nice arms. Beautiful wide smile. Nicest person you'll meet and okay, Zayn's happy alone. Doesn't even want a relationship after the last one. But Harry and Louis are 105% sure Zayn needs a steady flow of dick in his life to erase all the sexual tension he has with Niall.

And Zayn didn't deny that, knows there's a _lot_ of built-up hormones on his part for the blond (Stupid Boy). But he also knows they're _only_ on his part, this one-sided disarray of sex and kinky positions and flavored lube. Like tint windows of a car, the glass window separating the suspect from the legion of detectives on the other side. But, more sexy in Zayn's head.

"Come on, Zayn, you'll love him. He's sweet, can show a guy a good time. Knows how to skate."

"I'm listening."

Harry laughs, shakes his head at Zayn before wiping down a few tables.

Zayn asks for a double cheese chicken sandwich with a side of pickle chips before Harry's shift ends, makes himself comfortable in a cozy corner he finds and flops his belongings on the table in front of him.

He's touching up on A Midsummer's Night Dream, would rather continue his earlier book but reminds himself that Harry has an essay on Shakespeare for his English course. He's a good friend, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Nearing eight at night and more done with Shakespeare than he is with hockey, Zayn rests his chin on his palm, enjoys the dimmed lights and silence of it all. There's someone getting ready to perform, though. And yikes, not what Zayn desires on a Wednesday night.

It's a sluggish venture to close all his books, the little sighs and annoying grumbles that even annoy himself. He decides to stay until the performer's announced at least, because Harry always gets bitchy if Zayn doesn't stay for the gigs and he's completely positive he's going to go home and find Harry eating the last of his ice cream. It's Pistachio flavored, too. Harry doesn't deserve to know who sings. Maybe it's a poet tonight.

It's not a poet. Just some dirty-blond boy named Niall who the people closest to him cheer on where they sit. He has that dimple in his cheek, fringy hair and.

Zayn's lucky his mouth is empty. Really, he is; there's half a sandwich in front of him and three slices of pickles left. He could've been scarfing down the remaining deli right about now, swallowing and chewing like the greedy ass he is. But catching one look towards Niall would've been fatal; would've ended his life dramatically as he would've theoretically choke on the solid food he got stuck in his throat.

Talk about miracles.

Zayn diverts his gaze immediately, counts to ten in his head while focusing on the scratches on his boots before looking up and well, yeah, there's Niall. At _Zayn's_ place, mind you.

 **Do you know who’s performing tonight?** he texts Harry. Harry's not this stupid, is he? Does he even know who Niall is yet? Possibly. Louis' been spending enough time with Liam to feel the void he leaves. If he's actually telling Zayn the truth; which Zayn still has trouble figuring out.

He locks his eyes on his phone throughout Niall's introduction, his short conversation with the pretty coworker Zayn knows by name. He's such a _prick_.

 **Um no who is it? :DDD** Harry replies. For someone who bought an iPhone strictly for emojis, Harry lavishly keeps to text emoticons.

Zayn licks the back of his teeth, bites his tongue gently and puts his phone away. It's alright, it's okay. Ashley Tisdale may be currently singing in Zayn's head but that's fine, too. He can deal. He can so deal.

But he just...doesn't. He sits there, instead. Occasionally looks up to solely stretch his neck and catches glimpses of Niall playing guitar and his mouth really close to the microphone, like. Really singing.

Who knew fuckboys could sing.

Zayn needs to find a new word.

He's good. Yeah, Niall's pretty cool with the singing stuff. (Zayn won't give him the full credit he fully deserves, no matter how much sweat is sliding down the back of his neck. He won't go down like this.)

The song's easy and slow and reminds Zayn of the period where you're lulled to sleep. A song he'd like on his iPod, sadly. The song is making him more sad.

He hasn't seen Niall so attuned to anything since the hockey game; the way he brusquely hit the puck and showed all his aggression in his shoves that surprisingly immaculately abided by the rules. Which makes sense, since Zayn's only seen him enough times to count on one hand. But still. Each time Zayn looks up he's forced to take a longer hold, suppress the banging in his head telling him to just get up and leave already.

By the time the last strings are picked and the _Fool's Gold_ verse is carried around the room, Zayn could extinguish someone if they stood close enough to him. He can practically smell the heat off his own skin, striped t-shirt sticking in all the wrong places.

Despite the sweat building in his underarms and the thick swell of something in his throat, Zayn throws his cardigan on and swallows, stuffs the rest of his things in his bag and makes his hands useful by carrying his tray in one hand and the rest of his smoothie in the other.

Niall appears. Or his laugh does, causing Zayn to lock up and act 'normal' (as in flicking hair off his forehead sensually while parting his lips the right amount to look casual when he looks up). But Niall's by the stage, guitar slung across his back while he talks to the two girls who were cheering him earlier. Oh. Zayn drops his façade immediately. He wasn't fooling anyone.

Though a middle-aged woman catches his eye when he goes to discard his trash and Zayn has a hard time trying to appear like the twelve-year-old boy he is _not_. So Zayn looks away first, turns to find Niall walking in his direction.

He's looking down though, smile stretched happily across his face as if he laughed mere seconds ago. Zayn isn't surprised. What _does_ surprise him is the clipped, "Hi," he says before Niall's out the door.

Niall's barely three feet away, handle on the door when he automatically turns towards the source of the noise, finds Zayn standing there, maybe a bit uncomfortably.

He does that thing with his eyebrows, where he's confused and amused at the same time as a smirk replaces the smile, taking tentative steps towards Zayn.

"Heya, Zayn." He waves, hand coming down to smack against his own thigh. "You feeling better from last time?"

"Mm, yeah." Zayn is honestly, completely, hilariously at a loss of words. _Suitable_ words. Because the only thing on his mind to say is a friendly _I know you and you just did that wonderful thing up there_. Also, a not-so-friendly _I don't know you but I want to feel your deep voice against my neck_.

Zayn should've taken etymology courses. He truly needs them.

Niall's the complete opposite, easy in his stance and not hiding the ogle he gives Zayn. "You eat here often?"

"Uh." It's not a catchphrase, nor some get-go move. Zayn still has the remains of his meal in front of him, since Niall stopped his look at the tray. "Yeah, sorta, I guess. My best friend works here."

"Louis works here?" Niall asks, his whole body morphed into the question. His head tilts to the side, hand fits against his own waist as his mouth purses. His lips aren't as red, but Zayn can point the residue chapstick still staining his mouth; left there after his countless licks across them.

Zayn's not— _shouldn't_ be into that.

"No, another one," he smiles. "Figured you'd know this by now. You took Lou _away_ from me."

"Well, _I_ didn't. Can't say the same 'bout me mate."

"Liam?"

Niall looks surprised, wrinkled skin between his eyes when Zayn answers the question he didn't have to ask.

"Lou talks about him. Like, all the time."

"I'd talk for Liam, but," Niall zips his mouth shut. "I'm a good friend and all."

"Are you saying I'm not?"

Niall chuckles, shakes his head quickly with a hand gesturing along. "No, that's not what I meant, honest."

Zayn hums. It takes the easy silence that follows for Zayn's mind to wire back in place, cast his vision to see properly and pull the alarms in his head warning him _Alert! Alert! Fuckboy in surrounding area! Alert! Alert!_

"Yeah." Zayn points a thumb to his left, hopes that's where the exit is. "I'd better...you know."

"Taking that with you?"

"Hm?" Oh. The caribbean-green plastic tray is still clutched tightly in Zayn's grip. If Zayn had any more mass in his body he might've left an imprint on it. He wants to lash out, suddenly; caught in a stupid moment he tries everything to avoid. But Niall's just looking back down at him for a sincere answer. "Uh, no, actually. Gonna throw it out."

"Don't do that. You're wasting food. I'll order meself something, too. Wanna...?" Niall points to Zayn's right, this time. And he's definitely correct since a variety of empty seats awaits them.

Only because God is watching does Zayn say, "Yeah. Sure, I'll stay for like, ten minutes."

Zayn makes himself comfortable in a booth, presses himself as firmly as he can into the cushion behind him. No such luck, he's not sucked into it. The bread of his chicken sandwich is soggy by this point, pickle chips no longer holding that crisp he likes in them. The smoothie's too diluted also. Nothing should keep him there.

"Bought you a fruit cup and some granola. Key Lime yogurt, is it?"

"What— Why?" _How?_ Zayn really wants to ask.

"The cashier." Niall motions towards Taylor behind the corner, red lipstick impeccable and blonde ponytail neat behind her head. "Asked her if you had a usual, and ordered that."

"You didn't have to."

"I know." Niall shrugs while he chomps over his food, some greasy burger that'll look delicious if Zayn wasn't full.

He still picks at the fruit, eats enough that Niall doesn't give him the bored eye when Zayn just moved it around previously. The yogurt's really good, granola even better. So Zayn spends most of his attention on that.

They're quiet in the eight minutes that passes, Zayn's counting. And it's the first time he can remember wanting to disregard the silence.

He's jittery. He's nervous for so many things that are highly unlikely to happen but the quietness gives him a _lot_ of time to think and Niall's really comfortable over on his side of the booth, stirring his banana milkshake while laughing at his phone. He has the courtesy to show Zayn the pictures he's chuckling at. Zayn laughs when he can, grins when he can't.

"I saw you up there," Zayn blurts when he hits the tenth-minute mark. He keeps looking at the old sandwich of his, picks at the squishy slice of American cheese.

"Had a feeling," Niall mutters. When Zayn peeks over Niall's looking down at his own meal, dimple making the slightest appearance over the scalding blush. "Put the pieces together with the half of your untouched food and."

Now Niall's nervous, and Zayn gloats more than he should.

"What you thought of it?" he timidly asks, a veil of coyness when he pushes his hair aside, the blond catching the high ceiling light.

"Dunno," Zayn exhales, doing an expert show of flicking a black strand towards his face and taking a sip from his bland drink. He can see Niall glancing between his eyes and mouth. So, maybe gay. Or bi? Zayn'll work with what he's got. "Are you gonna take a compliment this time?"

Niall guffaws and squints his eyes. His has crinkles by them, the blue a sliver under his eyelids. Nice straight teeth while more chuckles erupt.

"I am sorry for that."

"Yeah, I know." Zayn gathers up his mess, slings his bag over his shoulder so his intention gets across. "But, um. You did good," he finally says. He won't boast Niall's ego, not when the shred of something bitter still edges Zayn's vision. "Like this version of you, actually. It's the only cool one."

"Nah." Niall disagrees gently, folds his arms over his chest when he looks at the table. His blush is extraordinary, soaking his face and vanishing into his dark roots. "They're all the same person," he says carefully.

Zayn mutters something, one word. Maybe a _yeah_ or a _sure_. All he knows is maybe Niall's right, like. Or maybe not. Zayn doesn't worry about it, though.

***

There's honestly nothing to say after that. Or, Zayn hasn't got an idea how to explain the following events that happen in his life.

They're very mundane, just like everything else he does. Niall suddenly making unexpected appearances in Zayn's life is very, _very_ mundane.

Niall drops off Louis a lot. Like, _a lot_. And it's kind of annoying but still pretty cool because he is actually a cool guy. When Zayn turns a blind eye to the fact he plays hockey.

Niall stays over a bit longer each time, and each time ends with a new record being broken from how late he leaves.

Zayn likes to make hot chocolate or coffee on the nights he's over, only because Louis will tell him to do it anyway and it gives him something to do instead of being ignorant holed up in his room. And whatever it may be, Niall takes it gratefully and nods in thanks, finishes it quickly and stains the rim of the cup red with his chapstick.

Zayn spends too much time rubbing the cup clean afterwards, digs his thumb pad into the creases for the simple fact to make sure it's spotless, of course.

"Do you drink tea?" Zayn blurts one night he's there. It's only the both of them in the small, fucking _closet_ of a kitchen, it seems. It feels really small tonight, and Louis fell asleep a few minutes ago on the sofa. So excuse Zayn if he says the first thing on his mind to fill the void that's itching him in all the wrong places.

Niall hums in question, leans over to hear better and his mouth is really red under the sole light. Zayn repeats himself, mentions there's a box of Earl Grey that Harry once bought to start drinking the leafy beverage, though he had quit the first morning.

"I just." Zayn licks his lips, inhales and makes sure enough air is passing through his lungs. There's no reason for him to faint. "You said you were from Ireland, right?"

"Yes, sir. Got that real Irish blood in me veins. Why?"

"I thought, um." Oh shit. "Wait, oh my God," Zayn laughs, pressing the knuckle of his thumb against the corner of his lip. "I just assumed, I. That's so rude of me to just assume you drink tea 'cause—”

"Hey." Niall has the courtesy to bite into his bottom lip to stop laughing, because Zayn's hysterical at the moment. But his teeth lets go of it and Zayn's hysterical for more than one reason. It's only expected, it _has_ to be expected how wet Niall's lip looks. It was just in his mouth, so the current shine over the bloody wax is very, very expected.

Zayn is very, so fucking hysterical.

"You good?"

Niall's in front of Zayn, looking between his hazel eyes with more concern than amusement now. There's a disturbance of green surrounding his pupils, pale blue around them seeming darker with each step.

"Wait, what?" Zayn murmurs, because Niall's pupils are dilating the closer he gets and Zayn doesn't know what or who to blame when he leans in an inch.

Only for Niall's hand to reach behind him and grab a rectangular box, take it with him when he steps back into his own personal space.

"I asked if you're okay, Zayn?" The box of Earl Grey is in his hand, and he brings it to his ear to hear the remaining tea bags shuffle as he shakes it. "And I actually do like tea, so thank you," he smiles.

He's back to being a fuckboy. Or he never left, really.

Zayn pushes his hair aside, does a few breathing techniques his father taught him when he was younger before he summons the energy to return his grin.

 _What Would Yaser Do?_ Zayn thinks whenever he or Niall isn't speaking.

There's another day Zayn's babysitting Theo, both boys slumped into the cushions as Lion King plays on the screen. It's at the part where Simba's found Mufasa's body after the stampede, so Zayn whips out his phone before Theo barges him with questions about the bottomless well pouring from his eyes.

 **My brothers stoppin by to pik up his guitar, So if he rings you can open up :)** Greg texts him in the middle of an extremely intense level of White Tiles. Zayn responds with a two-worded text in retaliation. He proceeds to ponder over asking Harry if he'd be able to take Zayn's position and train with Perrie later on, hisses a cheerful _Yes_ when Harry replies that he'd love to.

Nala's found Simba by the time the doorbell rings. Zayn grumbles, because he and Harry's been texting using solely memes for the past seventeen minutes, non-stop. He's a pro, really.

"Are you gonna get that?" Theo asks. His eyes are glued to the television and Zayn knows he's going to ask the same question again despite asking a couple seconds late.

Zayn supposes it's normal if he expected someone older than Greg at the door, a grown man with a heavy beard and probably a swollen belly; maybe someone with meaty arms accompanied by thick flecks of hair because Greg's never mentioned a sibling; much less a younger brother.

But Zayn greets Niall with an unplaced "Uh" that flops over his tongue.

"Niall?"

"Zayn?"

Zayn chews on his cheek, folds his arms over his chest and pulls his eyebrows low over his eyes. Niall's wearing cargo jeans that come to his knees and a gnarled scar sits on the left's skin. Zayn needs to look that over.

"What's up? Lou told you I was here?"

Niall gives a confused "Uh" in return, dissolves into an erratic chuckle before composing himself enough to say, "Um, no. Here to pick up me guitar, and. You're here, why?"

Zayn's still stuck on Niall mentioning he needs to retrieve a guitar, and Zayn's sure he's heard that before, not too long ago. He's sure if he lets Niall in, Greg'll come by with a stranger in his house.

But Zayn's not sure anymore when Theo runs by to latch onto Niall's leg, plaster his face into the jeans material in glee.

"Uncle Niall! You're here just in time!"

"Hey, bud." Niall rubs Theo's back, gently chucks his cheek when the little boy looks up at him. "Mind if I come in for a bit?"

"You're the brother?" Zayn asks. He's in front of the entrance, so only Theo's small enough to squeeze through. "You're the brother," he answers himself. Nodding and moving his jaw, Zayn steps aside. "Right. You're the brother who's here for his guitar. Please, come in."

Niall laughs again, and Zayn thinks maybe he can't help it. Zayn can't help the fast pace his mind's working on to piece everything together correctly, either. Though Theo's the only sane one, leading Niall in with a gentle hold on his finger.

"We're watching Lion King and Zayn brought over some raaj tukray so if you sit down you can eat with us, Uncle, can you stay?"

Theo rambles on and on, never pausing enough for anyone to reply. Zayn believes he wouldn't be able to speak, anyway. Not with Niall in the same room, with _him_. Not when the boy Zayn's grew to converse with in a civil manner is by the other end of the sofa, eyeing him the same way Zayn is.

There's a shadow over his blue eyes, dimmed over his lids while he chews on his lip in thought. He might be thinking the same thing as Zayn, the _What the fuck is happening?_ and _Is this real?_ Maybe the outrageous _What are the odds? This might mean nothing but what does it mean?_

(Zayn likes to pride himself with the fact that he's studied enough of Astronomy to bypass an average person his age. But he's never given Astrology a lot of thought and maybe interpreting the stars and their meanings would help him substantially right about now.)

Instead Niall keeps his mouth shut, gazes over Zayn's features as Zayn tries to answer all of this on his own.

"So," Niall whistles. It's fifteen minutes later, and his nephew—oh God, he's the nephew!—is delicately turning the pages of the comic Zayn occupied him with in the living room. "You're like, the babysitter?"

They're by the steps, a place in the house Zayn's never gone through. With a bathroom next to the basement, there wasn't a reason to ever go upstairs. So Zayn's never viewed the picture frames hanging over the wall as Niall takes the first few steps up walking backwards, Zayn following.

Niall inhabits enough of the photos that Zayn's speechless for a moment, unable to reply. Niall's barely older than Theo in one, sporting brunet hair in what's presumed to be a school picture in the other; his hair's short and spiky in the front, ruddy cheeks framing crooked teeth in a big smile. He's an adolescent boy in another when Zayn takes two more steps up. His hair's dyed blond here, and his lips are pink.

Not as red as they are now when Zayn looks to find Niall already looking down at him. His mouth is raw, all the lip biting causing blood to emerge to the surface and settle under the cherry chapstick he always wears. His face burns as the seconds tick, and Zayn notes the deep breath Niall takes in when Zayn doesn't look away.

"Yeah," Zayn manages to say after he's done absorbing this picture of Niall, the live one in front of him. He turns away, finds a photo of Greg and Niall at a sports event before smirking up at Niall again. "Yup. The one and only."

 

**Guess who stopped by Greg’s while I was with Theo?**

Zayn backspaces the whole message, shudders at the thought of Louis never placing his spoiled pride aside.

**Did you know Niall is Theo’s uncles?**

Harry would reply under ten seconds, Zayn's completely positive. He's not positive he'll want to answer the limitless feedback he'll receive in return.

**I saw Niall today and I didn’t know how to feel this time.**

Backspaced again. Perrie, nor anyone, needs to know about this. So hopefully it stays that way.

***

He has a crush, he can't deny that. And Zayn won't deny it, anyway. Lying to himself will only end up worse, he knows. So yeah, there's this tiny piece lodged somewhere in his body that's stubbornly beating with chaotic tremors at the thought of Niall.

Like, Niall's cute, and he has the forethought to care at times, and he has a really nice voice when he sings, an even greater voice when he's off the stage, and that's not an insult at _all_. His arms are really tight the tiny number of times Zayn's been able to tell. A nice handful, he thinks. Also, Zayn likes cherries, whatever.

But then there's that 'sport', one of Niall's 'pastimes.' Ugh. Zayn shivers at it. It could've been anything, really. Why not figure skating? Zayn likes that. But then he's reminded Niall hates figure skating almost as much as Zayn hates hockey. Almost.

So this miniature piece of vital information puts Zayn in a fit, so he stops thinking about it. Doesn't think of a crush that will go away completely if enough time goes by. He's not hopeful; he's _sure_. Just a few weeks, at most.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Perrie snickers behind her hand. Hair knotted up in a messy bun and trainer jacket tied around her waist, she glides over to Zayn.

He's rewatching the practice they just performed on the ice, the beat a little off but it's Perrie's shitty Polaroid camera's fault. What they have so far is okay, yet despite both sequences and a _flawless_ death spiral that was more difficult to control than Zayn initially thought, their shadow skating is what's fucking everything up.

Zayn misses Kareem so much.

"It's our shadow skating part," he grumbles, rubbing his face harshly with a higher groan that echoes over the ice. He doesn't elaborate further when she comes to a stop next to him and grabs the device from him.

"Yeah, it is a little wonky."

Who the fuck says that? Zayn keeps his mouth shut and regrets the hour they wasted time earlier. Besides just skating back and forth as a warmup, they did a star lift which was pretty cool. Both were too hype from that lift, which was when a throw jump came next that almost sliced Zayn's throat and almost dislocated her shoulder.

So they're back to business now.

"You just have to clear your mind," Perrie consoles, signaling chaos going on in Zayn's mind. And that's not it at all. His mind is clear enough to focus on what's going on in front of them. He just really wants to win. "Just stay loose," she continues, sliding the toe of her skate side to side until a nice scratch is cemented into the ice.

They practice a bit more, nail a platter lift that Zayn just might consider adding. After a few repeated efforts, it's scratched off the list before the ink's dry.

Zayn's mentally and physically sore and Perrie's yawning into her hand when they leave the arena, bags making their backs hunch as they walk.

"Ready for your date tonight with your mystery guy?" Perrie sings. She shouldn't tease Zayn. Not when he's waiting at the bus stop with her, _for_ her. Zayn regrets telling her about it, how it's been pushed further away for weeks by Zayn's own doing.

"It's _so_ not a date that I'm not going along with that, Pez."

"Mhm, sure, whatever you say, babe."

It's the end of April so the tanktop and thin jacket Zayn wears is okay, sweats he mindlessly threw on after they were done ice skating giving him the ball space he needed for quite some time.

"See you Saturday, love," she waves while she boards the bus. She continues to wave down the aisle, too enthusiastically in a huge vehicle that's moving forward.

Zayn smiles, gives a wave in salute in case she dies before he sees her again. She's already texting him by the time she turns the corner. Unbelievable.

He has too much time before tonight. 'The Night,' Harry and Louis dub it. The night Zayn will get his virginity taken the nth time by his true beloved. Or some shit, he never pays too much mind when they exert so much of their vigor on something he could care less about.

Zayn's going to be a good sport, though. Tidy up and wear something fitting. Show his tattoo sleeve and lethal pout. Might arch his back when he reaches over the coffee table or lug two cases of water bottles simultaneously, if the guy likes that or the other.

Though a nagging voice in his head that resembles his mother's is scolding him. He won't do anything about this....'Niallcrush' _but!_ He doesn't want to potentially lead someone else on if he's not completely interested. Which he's not, obviously.

"Oh, come off it, Z. You're gonna do fine," Louis smacks him after Zayn groans he's not ready, lightly on the back on his neck. Even he wouldn't dare to destroy the expertly accidental fringe Zayn's got going on. It's remarkable, really.

Zayn went for that casual-and-flirty-with-maybe-too-much-emphasis-on-casual-and-not-enough-on-flirty look. Skinny dark blue jeans, yet they bag around his knees and ankles, so he has some freedom in the right places. Burgundy boots that bunch up the hems of his jeans nicely. Tight army green pullover that has a pretty design in the stitching, actually, now that Zayn sees it. Enough rings adorn his fingers (Louis had to take some away, enough is never enough for Zayn). A stud each ear and.

"I feel like my son's growing up," Louis sniffs, hands on Zayn's shoulders as they look into the mirror.

"Fuck off, Lou. You're making this bigger than what it _li-terally_ is."

Louis ignores him, pinches Zayn's cheeks to add a little color and smacks his bum, _hard_ , for the hell of it.

"Okay, Harry said they're five minutes away. First things first, you're gonna be fine."

"For some reason I doubt that now."

"And you know Harry wouldn't hook you up with someone evil. Bet he had him complete ten surveys on top of already being friends, that lunatic."

Zayn hums. He'll at least act like he's paying attention.

"H told me he has really nice arms. And the cutest laugh, I think you're sold."

"Those are priorities." Zayn missed a bit of stubble under his chin. Shrugs it off and walks to the sofa for a two-minute nap.

"Haz might've also said he's his ex? But nothing serious."

"Whoa." Zayn swerves around. "What?"

"They were not that serious?" Louis tries to reassure. "Honestly, they've never even slept together. Which, I know, isn't the primary concept, but. It was like a three-month thing that they both look over." Louis shrugs, twirls his index fingers around each other as he looks down and murmurs, "Might've mentioned he plays hockey but that doesn't really matter in the—”

"What?" Zayn licks his lips, feels the room burning with so much at once. "What the fucking hell, Lou. Out of all things, you _know_ how I feel about that."

"On a best-friendly note, babe, I really think it's time you get over this little hatred. It's only for the better. Harry says the guy doesn't know he's even here to meet you, but. We just really want you to be happy."

Tonight, Zayn thinks. Only for tonight will he allow this. Harry and Louis don't mean harm, he knows that more than anything. And there's also a doorbell ringing that deletes any thoughts of hiding under his own bed.

"I'll be in the kitchen," Louis chimes, skipping ahead and disappearing before Zayn can latch onto his ankles and hide with him.

"Hiiiii," Harry greets before the door's completely open. He hugs Zayn tightly, at least stays silent and keeps any whispers to himself. Zayn knows Harry can ruin this all with a one misplaced look, a forgetful tongue. But when he backs up Harry diverts his eyes plainly towards his friend, _repeatedly_. "Zayn, dear. This is my friend, Liam."

Zayn chuckles, because _weird_. But he does so in his head. He's nice and respectful, grabs Liam's extended hand and shakes it firmly.

So, maybe arching his back it is. Or maybe hefting a gallon over each bicep. Yeah, Zayn'll do that.

"Zayn," he nods. Zayn gets a friendly _Liam_ in response.

"I'll let you two..." Harry disappears before he finishes. Zayn's going to kill him, fuck their efforts.

"Have we met before?" Liam asks. He has thick eyebrows, one dropping towards his eye in thought. "You skate. Right?"

Zayn is going to kill something. But he smiles, and nods in a manner he hopes is genuine. He hasn't an idea where this brilliant endeavor came from, how he manages to keep his mouth from scaring off this stranger.

He might have Niall to thank for that. All their encounters causing Zayn's walls to break down and rebuild themselves over something resilient.

"Yeah, I do. Figure skate. And you?" He knows the answer, though finds it engaging to ask as they walk towards the living room.

"Hockey." Liam looks towards his shoes, spotless Timberlands Zayn hasn't seen anyone wear for a while. Liam's okay. ....So far.

"Yo, Lou?" Zayn calls, because he wants him to see this, wants to give a _Haha! Check this out, another Liam!_ expression that Louis will understand in seconds.

But Zayn looks up from turning on the television to find the two already staring at each other.

"Hey." Liam clears his throat with a fist over his mouth before cautiously saying, "Lou? Um. You live here?"

"Hi." Louis dodges the squeak rising up his throat, pinches a piece of hair in between his fingers nervously and, okay...this is getting weird.

"So, uh," Louis breathes a chuckle, rises his chin to smile evenly up at Liam who's a few steps in front of him now. "You know Harry, too? What a small world."

Zayn's—

Oh God, holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

 

Zayn's dumber than he thought, because he was honestly about to squawk _this is your Liam?_ at least a thousand times throughout the evening. Well, more than ten, at least. Because he lost count after counting on his fingers.

He wouldn't, _didn't_ , expect someone of Liam to be Louis' type. For the five plus years they've known each other, Louis' always went for a twink; the tall, slinky boy who'd bend over for him if Lou whispered in his ear in the right tone. Liam doesn't look, nor is any of these.

He's not butthurt about this potential date burning to the ground. He couldn't be any _less_ butthurt if he tried. The whole hockey thing was really getting to him. Also on top of that, the main thing, was that Liam and Louis already slept together a couple times.

(Zayn remembers an early morning he woke up and joined Louis in his room, only for Louis to voice a bit later, "He has his own place, Zayn, I saw it," in a breathy moan. Zayn was too scared of the moan that might've triggered an erotic memory from his best mate. But Louis didn't stop from there.)

"Would you excuse us?" Louis says in the middle of the order of chinese donuts they're eating, Safe Haven playing on the screen. "Lost my charger in Zayn's room, gonna look for it while he helps."

"I have a spare in my trunk," Liam blurts. He has a blotch of sugar on his bottom lip, grease all over his lips, yet he's so....adorable. So fucking _lovely_. So not Louis' type. "You have a Galaxy S4, right?"

"Aw, thanks, love. But mine is somewhere in there."

Liam slumps back in his seat, but returns the gentle smile Louis aims at him.

The first thing Zayn does when he's in his room is gawk, "Oh my fucking—”

"What the fuck," Louis hisses when the door's shut behind him. "What the fuck happened? What the fuck _happened?_ "

"Okay, Lou. Before you get any ideas, I'm not interested in him." Zayn raises his hands, surrenders himself and would empty his pockets if they weren't already empty. "He's all yours."

"Of fucking course he's mine!" He paces the room, finger tapping his mouth in beat. "What if he likes you? Oh my God, if he likes you I'm doomed."

"He doesn't even know why he's here. And we barely exchanged three words so don't get any plans, Lou."

"You have such a pretty face," Louis curses. "Even if he likes me he might suggest a threesome, Zayn."

"You're going wayyy overboard, bro. Let's just worry about Harry picking up on what's really going on, which he still is oblivious to."

Louis ignores him, mutters _threesome_ and _what the fuck, Zayn_ while in thought. "If he offers a threesome I might accept, dammit."

"What the fuck?"

"Okay, whatever, I know what to do. Absolutely the same thing. And you?" He points an accusing finger at Zayn, lifts it until it jabs the point of Zayn's nose. "You do absolutely nothing, got it?"

Zayn does exactly what he's told. He stays quiet, sits down with everyone else, picks at his jeans for entertainment. Then he gets a little bored being with a Louis who's using everything he's got to show off and a Liam who's taking all this in willingly and a Harry who's too giddy to not see what's happening in front of them.

He takes a cigarette break on the back porch (the only requirement he had when he and Louis first looked for a place years ago). A much-needed break because too much unintended love at once is not good for the soul.

They don't have much of a yard; patches of green here and there but not enough space to actually do anything with it. They only leave their bikes back here or occasionally store their possessions here if a room needs to be fixed and the weather's nice.

Zayn sits on one of the spare chairs, randomly plucks a book from the pile next to him and looks over the summary while a cigarette burns in his other hand. It's a Nicholas Sparks novel he actually hasn't finished. Wow.

Sixty pages into The Guardian and a second fag flickering ashes to the floor between his fingers, Zayn turns his gaze to the opening door. Where Liam's stepping onto the concrete beneath them and closing the door lightly.

"Hey. Zayn," he waves. Zayn feels a little weird when Liam says his name for the first time. "Mind if I, um. Is it cool if I get a smoke from you?"

"Yeah, sure." Zayn avoids eye contact when he taps his carton open, extends it with the lighter into Liam's reach. He doesn't respond to the _Thanks, mate_ he says, either.

"Harry," Liam starts, Zayn rolls his eyes to the point of torment, "he, um. Think I know all your favorite subjects by now," Liam laughs, and Zayn doesn't laugh. "He won't stop talking about you.

Dear God, Harry. What the hell, man. "Just ignore him," Zayn shrugs, makes sure to remind himself to have a lengthy talk with Harry later on, that the "date" canceled hours ago. "He can get a bit weird."

"Yeah." Liam lights his cigarette, gives the lighter back easily and Zayn thanks the higher beings for the silence that follows. "So," Liam says, lips forming an O as he exhales the fume. "You and. You and Louis live together?"

Zayn has to mask his annoyance, slowly closes the book to evade seeming bothered. "Yep." He gives Liam his attention, not undivided, though. He only looks up at him.

"You two are friends, or like." Liam swallows, grinds the cigarette into the ashtray next to Zayn. He's nervous, and Zayn would appreciate this and give Liam the benefit of the doubt but he didn't need to lean so close to him, thank you very much. "You know, uh."

"We're best friends. No more," Zayn shakes his head. "So don't, like. Worry about me."

"Cool," Liam nods.

He doesn't continue, so Zayn dives back into the book, sucks on the last of his cigarette wholly because he's going to need it.

"So you and Lou never had anything, right?"

"What is it, Liam?" Zayn asks in return, smiling tightly with the snap of his closing book filling in the gaps. "Did me and Lou ever fuck? No, we didn't. But you two did."

Liam coughs, splutters and looks around as if a bottled water will appear. There's actually one behind Zayn, one he brought with him last minute. But Zayn suddenly can't recall that piece of young knowledge.

"He told you that?" Liam heeves, inhaling to cough into his elbow.

"No. You just did." Zayn's a fake bitch, because Louis did actually tell him, but he needs to be cool about this. Needs to appear above Liam.

Liam goes red with embarrassment in the seconds that follow, not the amusing-funny kind, either. But the harmful-scorch that leaves his face dazed as he takes in the cement beneath him. He looks like he wants to disappear.

Zayn should feel ecstatic. He thrives for making hockey players as uncomfortable and insufficient as possible. But he's not receiving the usual pride that'll bathe him zealously at the moment. So Zayn looks away before the opposite of pride takes hold of him.

"If you like him, you should tell him," Zayn mumbles around the finger placed against his lip. The book's open in his lap, hand holding the edge of the page as his eyes skim over the words. He's not reading anything. "If you _really_ like him though, mate. Not to fuck around." He aims a bored expression at Liam then, crooks an eyebrow until Liam looks away first.

"I did tell him. Not sure what was the answer he gave me, _though, mate_."

Zayn chuckles, smirks when he turns the page. He leaves a mental note to remember the page number because he's giving an Oscar-nominated performance, right now. Louis will be proud of him. Or maybe not, since Zayn's toying the fuck out of Liam. Liam could beat Zayn the fuck up if it came down to it.

Zayn doesn't think about that.

"So ask him again, tonight. Before you leave." Zayn puts his book aside, permanently. "You'll get your answer."

Liam seems skeptical, keeps the smoke in his lungs for far too long before he's exhaling it into the air.

Zayn swallows past his brain screaming at him to shut the fuck up. "He likes you, mate. Don't ask me how, or why, because I don't know and I don't want to, but he does, so." Zayn does some gesture he hopes conveys what he's trying to say. "Don't leave tonight without telling him. Or I will, myself."

"Please don't," Liam chuckles. He licks his lips and crushes the filter of his cigarette under his boot. He grabs a napkin from his pocket to pick it up afterwards, what the fuck. "That'll be so embarrassing."

Zayn only purses his mouth, tucks the tattered book under his arm as he stands to go back inside. He thanks the slanting roof above him for keeping all his used books in one piece, because despite rain and snow they're still—

"You're a friend of Niall's. Right?"

Liam's pointing a loose finger at Zayn when he turns midstep.

"I know him," Zayn corrects. "What's it to you?"

"He's my best mate, Zayn."  Liam furrows his eyebrows when he laughs, like it's absurd Zayn doesn't know this. "Just looking out for him, s'all."

"For what? What did he tell you?" Zayn asks, a bit too loudly. Liam rears back for a moment.

"Can't tell you that, Zayn. Him being my best friend and you still being a stranger."

Zayn breathes harshly through his nose. It's fine if he wants to choke the answers out of Liam, he assures himself. It's completely fine. But right now the best thing to do for all of humanity's sake is to fake disinterest. Zayn should be an actor, he really should.

"Okay." He's inside before Liam can rear him back with something else.

 

Louis ends the day with a semi-boyfriend, a name on his phone he can add a(nother) heart to in hopes it stays there. And Zayn's the one who's being punished for it.

 

Or it seems that way. Because Liam's over almost all the time and Louis talks about him almost all the time and Harry swaggers around calling himself (accidental) Cupid _all_ the _fucking_ time. And Zayn doesn't get a break from anything.

"I think they're cute," Perrie tries to reason. She buries herself into his side, tries to shy Zayn's hand from his face since he's rubbing his eyes too harshly. "Let them be."

"I am letting them be, Pez. I'm not complaining." Though he kind of is.

It's nothing to do with that overrated honeymoon stage that _stays_ overrated for a reason, no. It's not that Zayn's uncomfortable leaving his own room to walk into his own kitchen in case Louis wants to blow Liam off on their couch, in his _own home_.

It's the fact Louis becomes this distant person when he's "talking" to someone. And he tends to forget who's there when he comes back home alone and doesn't find it a big deal if he goes days without a heavy dose of communication with Zayn. And maybe Zayn's being a big baby over all of this, that for years they were all up each other's asses and now they're not and okay Zayn needs a(n unlabled) boyfriend of his own.

Except no. No boyfriend. Zayn's fine alone. He _loves_ his own company, and he couldn't express that enough.

"You've only been in one relationship," Harry mutters behind his hands a day they're all over. And yes, _all_.

"Yeah, and that was the worst thing I ever did during high school," Zayn replies. He steps over his cigarette, leaves the butt there before going back inside the apartment with Harry trailing closely behind.

"You don't mean that."

Zayn looks back at Harry while walking, notices his guarded green eyes and careful mouth as he nibbles on the corner of it.

"It's fine, babes. Really. I'm happy now, yeah?"

Harry pinches the same area of his mouth, shrugs without a word and Zayn rustles his hair and pats his cheek lightly.

When he turns back around towards the living room Louis and Liam are talking, ignoring the commercial playing in favor of diving into a deep discussion of The Script's latest album, one of the few they actually agree on. (Zayn reluctantly admits they are kind of cute, because instead of the couple who finishes each other's sentences they _don't_ let each other finish saying anything.)

Niall's fixed solely on his phone and is tapping away single handedly. His blond hair's down today, wavy from the snapback he wore on his way over. A mouth carved by Zayn's death, itself, it seems. Because even with his head tilt down and the shadows of his bangs playing over his face, Niall's lips are still cherry red and taunting, glimmering each time he picks at it with his thumb and finger.

"Hmm, saw that," Perrie lowly murmurs when Zayn sits down next to her. She brings her bottle to her lips, smiles coyly though the beer's gone warm a long time ago.

Zayn returns her cheeky grin, raises an eyebrow and whispers closely, "You didn't see anything." Grabbing his own bottle he twirls it in his hand, looks up to find Niall staring back at him. His eyes are dark and the blue is drowning everything and everyone in the room and Zayn looks away before he swims to the surface.

"You also gotta work on your axel jump," he says to Perrie, speaking low that only she hears him.

After he suggests they should replace some shadow skating with more mirror skating and Perrie agrees their next practice will be held in the bigger rink outside of town, Zayn shifts his stare to Niall.

He's back to his phone, focused with a burning furrow between his eyebrows.

***

Louis' a bitch. Harry's a bitch. Liam may also be a bitch. Perrie _can_ be a bitch. Not today, since she's not here. But, seriously. Why should they have to do this.

"Niall is undoubtedly Andy! Called it!" Harry says, raising a finger to further empathesize his point.

He's sat on the floor by Niall's feet. Niall's seized the one-seater by the wall so he can be on his phone and charge it simultaneously. Louis and Liam inhabit the loveseat next to them, how precise. Their hands are visible though, where Zayn's at.

Which is on the far side of the living, where the sole beanbag is perched. Zayn's happy where he is, honestly. Just hates the smell of acrylic that stayed after Perrie left.

"Who am I?" Harry asks, all-cheerful and never-evil-in-the-world smile on display.

"Leslie. Definitely a Leslie," Louis answers, snapping his fingers once while Netflix automatically switches to the next episode in the season.

"To be honest," Liam scratches behind his ear, grows red, "Think I'm a Chris, if I had to choose 'cause—”

"Replay."

Liam glares at Louis until Louis goes to twist his nipple. "A Ben, then," he says, capturing Louis' hand before impact. They scuffle and nearly knee each other in the balls simultaneously while Harry stays unaware, rapping a knuckle against his chin.

"I think Louis is a Donna, or a Tom."

"Definitely a Tom!" Niall still looks at his screen but shoots a finger in Harry's direction, ends up dislodging his bun in the process. "Self-entitled and all. Potential businessman. Whines for the simplest shit."

"Hey," Louis barks, eyebrow heightened. But his intentions fail as he slowly rubs his face in Liam's neck in the next second.

"What about Zayn?" Liam asks.

Zayn doesn't turn his head, but simply shifts his gaze from his novel to the duo across from him. This better be good, because he's one page away from the sequel on his nightstand.

"Still mulling that over," Harry says, fixing his hair before hunching with his chin on a palm. "I'm torn between Ron or April."

"April!" Louis hollers. "Zayn's an April, no take backs."

Zayn should've seen this coming a mile away, because he knows Louis the most out of everyone in the room. But yet, he isn't prepared for Louis' next statement.

"So like, Zayn needs to find his Andy now. Who should be your Andy, Zayn?"

"Isn't Niall Andy?"

Harry, you piece of shit.

"Wait a second," Louis slowly smirks, nods like the prick he is. "You're right. He is Andy. Would you look at that, Zayn? Niall's your Andy."

There's a smattering of giggles in the room, and Zayn looks up to find Niall just as shocked as he is. His phone's in a stiff grip and the faded blush that perpetually occupies his cheeks grows bright and stains what's left of his pale skin. Zayn can barely tell the difference between the color on his lips and his face.

"Nah." Zayn shrugs easily like he isn't making a mental list on how to get away with killing Louis. He's on step eight when he says, "Think Niall's a Jerry. Since no one likes him."

For someone who barely knows what's going on most of the time, Harry looks shocked, stuck in the middle of an ugly banter. He's the only one who seems to get Zayn's true intent because Louis and Liam laugh truthfully.

"Ooo, gonna stay quiet after that, Ni?” Louis asks.

Niall shrugs just as easily, holds Zayn’s stare purposely. He has a grin toying over his mouth as he answers, “Have no problem with that, mate. Got meself the hottest wife and a good life.”

“Gale is hot,” Liam mutters. Louis agrees right after.

“Well, you know who I think is the hottest?” Louis sighs, as if tired with all this talk. Zayn’s tired with him.

“Zayn!” Harry gives excitedly. “Zayn is definitely the hottest. No argument there, don’t fight me.”

“I’m like, about to _really_ fight you, Harry,” Zayn retorts, rubbing his temple harshly. The literary excitment’s gone, he couldn’t finish the book now if he tried. “Just shut up.”

“Why? What did I do?” Harry asks softly. He honestly has no idea what’s going on. But Zayn’s pointed look makes him stay quiet and hang his head.

No one’s watching the show by now, which is amazing, really. It is.

“Well I’m going to serve some tortilla chips and dip. Anybody wanna help?” Louis pulls Liam with him before he can say anything. Harry follows a few seconds later, mentions he left some ice cream in the freezer from his birthday. Which was months ago. Okay.

Okay. Zayn’s a few words into his book. Print has never failed him, so don’t fail him now.

Niall guffaws in the moment Zayn’s finally submerged in the story. Mia and Adam will have to wait.

He instantly knows Niall’s not laughing at his screen, nothing’s that funny, right now. His face is that everlasting red and his mouth is shiny and his eyes are so blue it’s ridiculous. Zayn may want to laugh also.

Instead Zayn says, “They’re just dicks,” to fill the rapid silence that’s making everything in the room swell. Zayn feels as hot as Niall looks, is tempted to rip his shirt off in hopes it’ll ease some of the tension surrounding them. But it permeates even thicker, and Zayn could cry with how awkward he is. He doesn’t do this.

“Dunno, Zaynie,” Niall sighs, more relaxed than Zayn first thought. “That was a pretty dick move from you, too.”

“I—” Zayn blinks as Niall’s gaze doesn’t falter. He’s all the confidence Zayn needs right about now. “Think you deserved it.”

“How?” Niall chuckles, eyebrows drawn down with confusion.

Zayn only shrugs. Times like this make him wish he’d brought over the extra blanket Yaser offered him last year. Bless his father, because right now Zayn’d be able to hide without problem; not showcase his own stubborn blush clearly.

It never stops. Louis doesn't relent. Liam always goes along with him. Harry tends to follow whoever's in the lead. and Perrie can be just as bad as Louis.

Zayn is way nicer than people give him credit for, because he should be able to kill them all by now without a bad record in his future.

Thing is, they know what's going on. They know Zayn's striving to avoid Niall at all costs and Niall doesn't stress anything; simply stays where he is and laughs with everyone else and doesn't question Zayn's motives. Which are _only_ Zayn's motives, because even Zayn knows Niall couldn't decipher what Zayn's getting at.

 **Bro you good ?** Niall texts Zayn a weekend afternoon they're watching The Lego Movie. They're sitting right across each other, but Zayn's eyes has been plastered to the screen before the DVD was popped in, really.

**Yeah, why?**

The phone vibrates in Zayn's pocket, yet he waits until the scene's finished, flicks Perrie's hair onto her forehead out of spite, and serves himself a bowl of cereal before he looks at his phone. Even then, he scrolls through Instagram a bit and goes on iFunny first.

**Youve been rly weird. Nothin personal, just made the observation .**

"Just made the observation," Zayn mocks. He's a bit loud though, 'cause when he locks his phone without replying Perrie's eyeing him with her lip between her teeth, confused and close to laughing. "Shut up," Zayn whispers before she opens her mouth, pinching her cheek until she lets go of her lip.

He takes his bowl to the kitchen, wonders if pouring himself some more Frosted Flakes with extra sugar is smart or wise. More wise than anything.

The box is almost empty so the remaining sugar at the bottom of the bag makes Zayn very happy. As does the little bit of milk that's just enough to cover most of the flakes, just the way he likes.

The small table on the other side of the kitchen, which Louis and Zayn dub as "the dining room", is empty (for the meantime). So Zayn takes his bowl and makes himself comfortable in the wooden chair, ignores Liam's and Harry's loud laughter throughout the film.

Zayn enjoys his meal for only seven minutes, he counted. Because he looks up to a soft rap against the wall by the counter, to his right.

"'Sup," Zayn says. He makes the mistake of accidentally dripping a few drops of milk down his chin. Niall sees it before Zayn can wipe them away, though.

"Uh," Niall chuckles. He runs a hand over his own chin, as if brushing off the phantom droplets as well. "Um. Yeah, 'sup."

A hum leaves Zayn, but he doesn't know if it's directed to Niall or the leftovers in front of him he can't stomach anymore.

"You've been good?"

"No, I've been really weird," Zayn monotones, repeating Niall's message.

"Dear, God." Niall rubs his face, stresses a laugh that's more painful than light. "Don't know what to do with ya, Zaynie."

Zayn laughs reluctantly, twirls his spoon for something to do. "Don't have to do anything with me, Niall."

It's supposed to be a warning. Zayn meant to voice his obvious distaste with the likes of Niall. But he only sounds airy and coy. Zayn is not coy, especially not with Niall.

(Zayn is so coy.)

It's silent and Zayn looks up to see Niall stuck where he's standing. A solid blue in his eyes instead of the melting ice hue they give off.

"Do I, um." Niall clears his throat. "Did you just, like—” There's a sheen over his neck that wasn't there a minute ago. "I don't know how to follow that up, actually."

Zayn saves this moment as a win, that he's finally shut Niall up.

"Wait. I was actually gonna say," Niall pats his pockets, whips out his phone. Well, the quiet lasted while it did. "You're a Capricorn, right?"

"We're doing this again?"

"I read that Capricorns become distant for irrational reasons."

Zayn's definitely not eating anymore.

"That's cute," he gives, because Niall doesn't explain further and Zayn feels it's right if he says _something_.

"It's _not_ cute. And you just confirmed it's accurate."

"No, I didn't."

"Kinda feels like you did."

"I really didn't," Zayn bites, becoming defensive and ready to stand up for a eye-staring showdown if it needs be. But, as always.

"My my my," Louis interrupts. "No loose garments on the floor," he drolls, sauntering by them as he surveys the kitchen. "Both of your outfits are still intact. I'm actually surprised you two aren't connected by now."

"Lou, what the fuck."

"Calm down, _Zaynie_. Just came to grab lotion."

"In the kitchen?"

"Unexpected, right? Exactly my goal." Louis smirks between them, incredibly finds a small bottle of Johnson's baby lotion in the cupboard and tucks it in his back pocket. "I'll be on my way. You two can go back to whatever kind of lovemaking you young kids do in this generation."

"Why." That's all Zayn gives when he pushes his chair back and makes his way to the sink, half-empty bowl in hand. "Why are you like this."

Louis only smirks obnoxiously and winks in reply.

It's eight seconds later, after Louis eyes Zayn and Niall knowingly and walks back into the living room, when Zayn and Niall are alone, again.

Zayn forgets how to use the dish rag that's hanging limp in his hand, faucet streaming fully in the silence.

"Um."

"Yeah." Niall taps his phone against his thigh, hums and sways as he focuses sternly at the ceiling. "Forgot what I was gonna say, uh."

"Ignore him," Zayn blurts while shutting off the running water. Louis' doing the dishes today. "Ignore all of them, they're just. Like, I don't know. Don't feed into that, that's what Louis wants. I bet."

When Zayn turns around and wipes his hands down his jeans, Niall's staring between him and his phone, not hiding the blue gazes he gives Zayn in the process.

"You sure that's what only Lou wants?"

Either Zayn forgot to swallow his last spoonful of cereal, or he's choking on a large piece of cement. It takes him too long to think of what to say, even longer to begin to reply.

But he never gets to it, not when a delighted Louis calls out, "Zayn, you can't keep Niall from us forever, you know. We don't want him as much but it's nice to share."

Niall laughs, but Zayn's too stunned with discomfort to figure out what kind of laugh is it.

Why should they have to do this.

***

It's miraculous that Zayn gets the call in the middle of one of his rare slots of alone time, when he doesn't have to do _anything_. He and Perrie are practically done fabricating their skit, all that's left is to wonder aimlessly if something should be replaced or added; the library's down for repair and Louis' at one of Liam's hockey games; Harry's drowning in textbook work and highlighted quotes. So, alone time it is.

Louis' calling him, which is weird, and if Zayn was any less filled to the brim with cheese puffs, he might've realized earlier on that something was wrong.

"Yeap?" Zayn answers, laying the book on his chest and picking at his lip. It's dusted with crumbs.

"Um, Zayn?"

"Liam?"

"Could you— You think you can come to the hospital?"

"What?" Zayn brings himself up until he's sitting, the hardback sliding into his lap. "What do you mean the hospital?"

"I'm with Louis, he's going crazy and. Wait, he's fine! It's Niall, he's—”

"What?" Zayn says again, slower and quieter. "Wha- Who's hurt? Is Niall hurt?"

"Yeah, and I can't— Lou's freaking out, I can't calm him down."

"Text me what hospital," Zayn says, fitting his second foot into an untied boot. He recalls Louis taking a ride with Liam, so Lou's car is here and Zayn just needs to make sure he has his license and the extra key. "Please," he whispers, before he loses his mind and figures out anything else through the line.

 

"What happened?" he introduces himself when he finds Louis and Liam in the waiting room.

Louis snaps his head in his direction, and Zayn breathes a little easier when he doesn't find Louis' eyes bloodshot red. They're more restless, with more bags under his eyes than usual and a deep purple color settling.

"Lou, what _happened?_ " Zayn begs, fitting his hands deeper into his pockets when he sits across from them. "Lou, please tell me what happened. Niall's hurt?"

"He just—” Louis clears his throat to talk clearer; Zayn can't tell if he was crying or if he was just silent for too long. "I don't know, they hit the puck too hard and he," Louis waves a hand tiredly through the air and wipes his eyes defeatedly. "Niall just. Fucking hell, Zayn, he just flew and—”

"Oh my God," Zayn interrupts, muffled when he clamps his hands over his mouth. "Louis, what the fuck happened before I lose my mind. Just please tell me what happened."

"The puck—”

"Did he get hurt bad?"

"Not as bad as—”

"Is he okay now?"

"Yeah, he's—”

"Can we go see him? Why are we just here?" Zayn badgers on, looking down at his scruffy shoes with annoyance laced in his voice. "If he's hurt why are we just here, Louis? Is anyone even with him?"

"Zayn," Louis tries to pacify, leaning until he's somewhat in Zayn's line of sight. "Zayn, he's fine, I just. There was a lot of blood so I freaked out earlier. I didn't—”

"Why did he get hit?" Zayn asks. He kind of expects an answer. "What the fuck happened that he was the one hurt? Out of everyone it was Niall? Why?"

"He's the goalie," Liam eases his way into the conversation. "The puck flew too high and hit his head. He was conscious, so that's good. No one saw it coming, it was seriously an accident."

"Someone deliberately hit the puck and you're calling it an accident?"

"It w—”

Zayn gets up and strides towards the front desk, knees jumping out of place with each step. The receptionist looks kind, and patient, and maybe a little more understanding than the situation demands as Zayn makes his way over to him.

"I'm here to see a patient, please," he stutters, scratching his hairline and pushing strands behind his ears. "Um, his name is," Zayn looks down where his foot is tapping against the linoleum with agitation swimming through his veins. "Sorry, he's—”

"Horan, Niall?" the receptionist gently butts in, grabbing a slip of paper as he looks at Zayn calmly. He smiles even softer, as if urging Zayn to come back to the sane side if only for a moment. "I saw you make your way from the couple over there, and they came here with Horan."

"So he's..." Zayn isn't aware of the rushed breath he releases. It takes the man in front of him curving his eyebrow curiously for Zayn to inhale and continue, "He's okay?" The receptionist nods. "Oh, thank fuck, I thought. Don't know, felt like they weren't telling me something. I think I just—”

"Overreacted?" His name is Donny, it says it on his nametag when he taps it. "It's fine. Shows you care a lot, no downfall in that. Your name is...?"

"It's Zayn," he mutters, scratching his eyebrow. "So. Do you know what are Niall's injuries?"

"I don't, sorry," Donny shakes his head, scribbling on a piece of paper. "I was on a short break when he arrived. But Dr. Horan, his father, does. And I was told Niall's okay. Think the biggest problem is a lump on his forehead that'll recede eventually."

"But. I heard he was," Zayn licks his lips, and wonders if he should've changed his tight pullover before leaving the house since his lungs feel compressed. "Was he bleeding? I heard he was bleeding and that's bad, right?"

"I haven't heard that, and I would've if it was a big deal. So rest assured, if there _is_ a cut or gash of some sort, I think everything's fine now." He hands Zayn the stiff piece of paper, inked green with a clip so he can attach it to his shirt. "If you're somehow related to Niall, I might be able to sneak you back there."

"Oh." Zayn pouts the tiniest bit. "No, sorry. We're not related."

"A boyfriend, maybe?" Donny tries. "That's the farthest I can go, actually."

Zayn knows Donny's not trying to pull, not when he seems sincere as he looks casually up at Zayn. And weird, because Zayn's isn't above using his little expertise to sneak his way into seeing Niall. But he only shakes his head, thanks Donny for the help and says he'll just wait with his friends.

 

They go to see Niall a little after eleven at night, and Zayn has to force himself to stay a few steps behind Louis and Liam to maintain his steady breathing. But his legs are hyperactive with the rest of him and he's squeezing his way into the room right before Liam reaches the door.

It's a big room where a curtain separates both beds and Niall's on the farther side, by the window. And when Zayn sees Niall he's switched off his axis with how different Niall appears.

He doesn't look sick, doesn't wear the part of the sick patient. The only evidence that shows he belongs is the white patch taped right below his hairline on the left side. His skin is the usual pale and freckled sheet with splotches of red around his elbows and on his neck. His hair's floppy and frizzy, and Zayn remembers he arrived here straight from a game so his messy appearance is appropriate. But what strikes Zayn off is the laziness framing his blue eyes, how they're not open with so much attention and awareness for once.

"Niall?" he asks, because Niall doesn't look asleep yet but he gives off sluggish blinks every few seconds.

"Got some heavy drug in me right now," Niall slurs, lifting his eyebrows though his eyes stay slit. "Think me da gave me the good shit."

Zayn laughs as he moves to Niall's right side, hugging his own frame tighter. Niall's under a blanket and no casts are on him and only the heart monitor is attached to him so that's good. He's good. "Gave me a scare there, Niall," Zayn murmurs. There's a corner of Niall's blanket poking out so Zayn tucks it under his arm thoughtlessly. "I thought you were in a coma for a second."

"Zayn?" Niall asks, accent heavier with the morphine. "Is that you, mate?" Zayn wants to tell him to stop when he forces his eyes open and looks up at him, his blue irises struggling to focus on Zayn. "Whatch're doing here?"

"No reason at all," Zayn shrugs pointedly. He can't help it when he reaches over and touches the patch on Niall's forehead, pulls an edge over carefully to find a small spot of dried blood. "Got a call that some dummy managed to land himself in the hospital." When Zayn pulls away Niall's eyes follow him, and Zayn's not bothered enough to tamper down the grin growing on his own face.

"This dummy had a bad day," Niall smirks. "M'a Virgo, Zaynie. Have a..." He loses his thought and edges into a sleep before shooting his eyes open again. "Have a bad year ahead o'me. I can feel it."

"You're not bringing up this star crap when you're almost knocked out."

"Says the one who has photos of galaxies as their wallpaper. Hypocritical, innit?"

"You're tired, you don't know what you're talking about," Zayn replies, and he gets the response he was looking for when Niall gives a short laugh, lips stretching to accomodate the action. "Go to bed, Niall, before you hurt yourself again."

"Mm, good night, Zayn." His voices rumbles as he drifts off, head tilt in Zayn's direction and eyes in a hefty slumber.

"Yeah," Zayn mutters, chewing on his bottom lip. He's still uneasy, and he doesn't know why. So he fixes Niall's blanket for something to do and checks the pad on his forehead again and makes sure his neck is in a better angle. He doesn't realize he's planning what to buy the _both_ of them for breakfast in the morning when Louis taps his shoulder, in the middle of Zayn patting the pillow down.

"Z? You good?"

Zayn hums when he looks over, straightens his back and stares at Louis perplexed. "I'm. Alright, I guess. Why?"

"You don't. Um. Can you," Louis flicks his head towards the door. "Come with me real quick."

They leave Liam in the room, who's standing awkwardly in front of an empty chair unsure of what to do.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Zayn, you sure you're okay?" Louis asks intently, hushly as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans closer to Zayn.

"I'm okay. Still feel a bit jittery, but I don't know why. Are you okay, bro?"

Louis doesn't answer, but he moves his jaw to the side and leans his head over his shoulder. "Okay, I'm gonna get to the point, what the fuck was that?"

"I don't even know," Zayn answers honestly. "Guess they gave him that _really_ strong medicine. Like, who did he think he was talking to at first?"

"Wait," Louis reels back, "what?"

"What?"

"Are you and Niall dating?"

"Wait, wha— Whoa, bro. Come on, I barely like the kid."

"Are you sure about that?"

The feeling in Zayn's chest rises, somersaults and ricochets all over the place and stabs repeatedly across his breastbone. "I'm really sure, Lou."

"I don't believe you," Louis shakes his head. "You do not do all that for someone you barely like, and okay, maybe you tolerate him somewhat—”

"There's no choice when you have him over all the time."

"But take a step back, and relive all of what you did from the moment you stepped foot into this building."

Zayn does exactly that, thinks of when he spoke to Louis and Liam and fills in the gaps where it needs to be. When he gets to where he and Louis are at right now, the tension in his body is overflowing, and he's suspended in the middle of an electric rink to notice Louis' blatant stare.

"Okay, and?"

"Don't fuck around, Zayn. And I don't only mean that about now."

Louis pats Zayn's arm, walks away to join Liam and all Zayn can think is _What the fuck did just happen?What the fuck did I do? What the fuck did Louis see?_

What the fuck did Niall see?

***

Zayn wakes up at 7:08 in the morning, which is fucking incredible. Unheard of, actually. Because he went to bed after three when he got home and couldn't find the will to sleep for hours.

He knows if he closes his eyes and turns his back to the rising sun, he could fall back to sleep in under fifteen minutes. But he also knows if he does that he'll sleep in for the whole morning and might miss an opportunity to visit Niall while he's most likely alone.

Harry found out about the news an hour after they went back to see him, and Louis assured him to stay home since Niall was okay. Liam managed to convince Louis to visit the gym, and Zayn is already begging to text him and see how it's going. But, more important matters at hand here.

He takes the longest shower and jerks off the pent up adrenaline in his body that won't go away. But after a deep groan and watching his load swim down the drain, he still feels clogged up with an excitement that doesn't feel all good. Like a shock coated with suspense that's tempting to get lost in.

Louis took his car, so Zayn boards a bus and considers stopping by the McDonald's a few blocks down from the hospital. He brought his bookbag with him that only holds an old, tattered sketchbook and a few broken stencils so there's enough room.

Being a professional figure skater and having Kareem roast him every time he takes a bite of something unhealthy, he was never an avid fast food lover. Or couldn't become one. But since he's been on his own, pizza's become very present in his life and he's learned to appreciate a greasy burger with fries.

He buys himself a McGriddle with two hashbrowns and a side of yogurt with granola. He orders Niall the same thing with a platter of pancakes, eggs and sausage; Zayn knows firsthand how much the buoyant boy can eat in one sitting and gives a mental note that he'll physically throw all of this in Niall's face if he doesn't appreciate it.

With two bottles of Minute Maid orange juice in his bag and quick steps, he's in the hospital before he realizes he has to actually ask for Niall again. It's not that he's nervous, it's just he's alone this time, and though he still harbors something unsettling in his belly, last night was different. Last night he was with Louis and Liam. Last night he was scared out of his fucking mind and used that bad energy to strive forward.

Now, he's still scared; a bit out of place amongst all the white surfaces and clean uniforms. But this fear is altered by a nice comfort that Niall's okay. Zayn saw Niall the night prior, heard him speak to him and witnessed him falling asleep, seeming way more peaceful than Zayn literally was.

Donny's by the desk this morning, and he aims a friendly smile to Zayn and makes a new VISITOR nametag before he's standing across from him.

"Need me to hold your hand to the room?" Donny teases. It's a strict tease, no underlying meaning nor a sensual request. And Zayn thanks any higher being listening to him that he can send a real smile that assures both Donny and himself.

"Visiting hours aren't open yet but if you play it off well, no one will bother you," Donny says, handing over the paper. "You don't seem evil, and Niall was asking for you, anyway."

"Niall? He..." The four edges of the nametag are flicked by Zayn's fingers as he gathers his thoughts. "You saw him after I left?"

"Yeah. I work the night shift, so," Donny shrugs. "It gets a bit boring and if I ask Hanna to cover for me, I like visiting a few patients."

"Did he, like." Zayn puts _too_ much effort into making sure his nametag is clicked on correctly. "What did he say?"

Donny hums and taps his pen repeatedly with a smirk. "I'm sure nothing you haven't heard before," he winks, and Zayn honestly doesn't know what to think from that. "You can go see him now. Last time I checked, he was awake."

Zayn swallows around the question in his throat, nods in thanks with a quivering smile. Suddenly he's not as hungry as before but wants to stuff his mouth with enough food that he doesn't have to talk for the rest of the day; the rest of his life, if he can choose.

Walking away from Donny is a much more difficult feat than Zayn realizes, because he's known the man for less than twelve hours. But he knows absolutely no one else for the marathon-long journey to Niall's room.

It's still only Niall's room, since last night there wasn't anyone else in the second bed either. So Zayn takes gratitude in the fact it's only he and Niall for the meantime. Which is—

And that's—

Zayn absolutely has no idea how to go about this. And suddenly the past few hours come crashing down on him and the only thing he can make sense of is Louis' appraising stare when he took Zayn out of the room last night. The blue glare that held something Zayn couldn't comprehend at that time.

But now he can, and when he walks further into the room to let out what's on his chest, he's met with a sleeping boy.

Niall's asleep, and it takes everything inside Zayn to refrain from screaming or releasing the loudest insane laugh.

He's laying on his side, a hand tucked under his head and the other gripping loosely on a magazine. _People_ magazine, Zayn reads, and does emit the tiniest snort. He's just so...quiet. And he looks younger in a way that drives Zayn crazy.

Zayn has to sit down before he loses the will to stand, loses the will to be a citizen for a day and visit a friend.

Niall is his friend, and Zayn needs to remember that. For some reason, he repeats this in his head like a mantra. And he can't explain why but this fact nags at him, pokes at his thoughts and tugs somewhere really deep inside Zayn. He always knew Niall would be a friend, eventually. Currently. He's probably been a friend way longer than Zayn decided to accept it. But ever since the beginning, as far as Zayn can think, back when he bumped into the physical being of laughter and lethal smiles and Zayn's fucking dying wish, Niall's always tweaked unstabled ends in Zayn's wire of thought, his fucking everyday life.

The magazine in Niall's hand is slipping, sliding down the side of the bed and Zayn reaches for it. It's open to a crossword puzzle, and as Zayn skims through it he knows the answer for 17 Across is Grant Gustin because he watches The Flash every Tuesday faithfully.

On the other page lists zodiac signs, and of course. Of fucking course. Zayn isn't surprised, but sighs while rubbing his nose. Niall's unbelievable.

He learns that Deena from The Jersey Shore has his same birthday. And his monthly horoscope is a load of shit that reads how his ' _confidence around men_ ' is going to help with his timidness. Biggest load of BS. It doesn't even make sense.

Zayn doesn't know why, and he won't question himself because he'll only end up more hypocritical, but he reads Niall's column.

' _If you have no choice but to confront the person, do it! Make your intentions clear. And ask what do they want in return_.'

"Okay," Zayn mutters, flipping the issue closed and placing it on the floor. "Now _this_ is the biggest shit I've ever read."

When his phone vibrates, it's with a message from Louis: **You think u can heat up the chicken from yesterday? Gonna be home soon and Liams hungry :) :* <333**

 **Sorry, babe. I’m not home right now :B**                      

**:| where tf are u?**

Zayn taps at his screen, opens up the camera and snaps a photo of his view before sending the pixelated sleeping Niall to Louis.

**Youre with Ni? ??**

Zayn doesn't reply, only because duh, of course he's with Niall. He made sure the picture was clear enough. Putting his phone away, he dives into his meal, forgets about oxygen in favor of inhaling processed fried potatoes and pulp-free juice. He likes it with pulp, but beggars can't be choosers.

**Why do you suddenly care about Niall? Im geniunely curious bro**

The message stays on the screen for way longer than necessary, and when it dims Zayn touches the screen to lighten it again. And he taps the screen again, and attempts forcing himself to let it disappear before he's pressing a fingerpad on the typing box.

But thumbs jump in front of the keyboard, and Zayn is just as mentally blank as he is speechless. He thanks everything that Louis isn't in front of him now, because he'd only look as stupid and demented as he feels.

**Zayn do u like him or something? You can talk to me yeah?**

The thing is, Zayn knows that. He can talk to Louis about everything. He doesn't, but he knows he has the choice. And giving it enough thought, and allowing himself to be completely honest with himself, Zayn doesn't know what he feels for Niall.

All Zayn knows is this time yesterday morning he couldn't stand Niall. And a few weeks ago he wanted to have the hottest, intense sex with Niall; the kind he imagined where his thighs would quiver long after they were done. And months ago Niall left a weird itch in his skin that Zayn didn't want to scratch away.

And Zayn knows a part of him does like Niall, maybe a bit more than he ever liked Jonah. The problem is he doesn't know what to do with this knowledge.

Does he ignore it? Hold onto an immature faith that with time it'll go away? And Zayn does want it to go away. If there's a possibility of he and Niall getting together, their tiny circle of friends would all know. And their tiny circle would become even smaller. Hell, next Harry and Perrie will get together; yeah, sure, that'll work astoundingly.

Does Zayn initiate something? Does he listen to Niall's advice from the dentist, where Capricorns start ideas and Virgos come along and continue them? Was _Niall_ making a definite move? It could mean he's bisexual. Or heteroflexible. Zayn doesn't want to label Niall (besides being an inconsiderate hockey player from the dirt), but Niall could be biconfused.

Niall could be _uninterested_. Maybe Zayn should take more humility lessons, because that unforsaken thought wasn't considered in his mind. And it should've been the first thing on his mental bulletpoint on Ways To Handle a Niall in Your Everyday Life.

Louis' words ring in his ear, to avoid fucking around. And Zayn closes his eyes for a second and imprints these words in the front of his brain.

 **I'll tell Haz to go over. He might whip up something else to go with the chicken** , he texts back. Zayn's sure Louis will receive his answers through that.

 

Zayn takes a little nap after he texts Harry and responds to Perrie about what color they should wear for their performance. And when he wakes up around eleven, it's to Niall watching the local news on the propped television, a hand resting on his hip and the other messing with his hair.

The blond ends are frizzy, sticking out unusually and Niall's long fingers are combing through it. He's doing a half-assed job at fixing it, too focused on the weather forecast when Zayn moves his side to sit up straighter, jostling his chair in the process.

Niall looks over at him, and his mouth forms into a soft smirk, the shine in his blue eyes bouncing off every surface.

"Morning, sleepy head," he greets. His voice lacks a morning groan, so he must've been awake for sometime.

"How long was I out?" Zayn decides to blurt instead of a nice greeting. Waking up early does bad things to his well being. He should know this by now.

"Well. I woke up around nine, and you were fuckin' out of it." Niall gives a tiny giggle. "You drooled and everything, mate. Must've been knackered."

Zayn rubs his eyes to wipe the tiredness out of his eyes. Also he's brimming red with a hot blush that's more deadly than anything.

"What time did you get here?" Niall asks. Zayn grumbles _eight_ , yawns into his hand. "Why are you here anyway?"

Zayn felt like he had an answer for that. Now he's left perplexed and unable to voice exactly what he wants. Only, he doesn't know what it is.

"Came to make sure you're okay," he mumbles, biting a nail to refrain saying more.

Niall nods slowly. He moves to sit up, stretches his arms and drops them by his sides with a smile. "I'm good," he answers. "I'm really good right now. I didn't die, Zaynie."

"What exactly happened to," Zayn motions towards Niall's forehead where a new patch seems to be placed. "Do you remember or?"

"M'only still here 'cause me da won't let me go home yet. I didn't pass out or anything, Zayn," Niall laughs, but he's not making fun. His eyes are too soft for that and his wide grin only beckons Zayn closer. But of course, Zayn has some sort of control. He stays where he's seated. With a yawn of his own, Niall answers, "Was blocking the net, thought the puck was aiming lower and miscalculated the angle so," he shrugs and points to his face with a childish smile.

"Was it like last time? When I gave you the blanket and you were, like. Pissed off," Zayn trails off, swallowing around the discomfort that thought brings. "One of your teammates got hurt. It was a... Was it a boarder? Some board move?"

"Oh, a boarding. No, not that," Niall shakes his head. He has a habit of using his lips excessively in everything he does. So when he shakes his head now his lips become pursed, slotted closer together as he looks at Zayn closely.

His lips are red, and Zayn's taken aback from the jeering in his bones because even in a hospital bed with no products in his hair and bags under blue eyes, Niall's still glowing. This pale specimen in front of Zayn is absorbing all the light in the room, causing his skin to illuminate and his eyes to glow lighter.

It's completely sunny outside but Niall still makes Zayn feel like he's the only source of light for miles in every direction.

"...which was fucking sick, in a _bad_ way. I mean, Luke was barely able to stand after that."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"The kid who got hit the last time, when he got chucked off the ice? Yeah, that's Luke," Niall says, like Zayn never interrupted. "He's this overgrown baby, so to see that happen to him really ticked me off."

"Yeah, you were, like." Zayn licks his lips, keeps his gaze as steady as Niall's. "You were really fucking mad, dude."

"Someone had to be. Thank Christ Calum wasn't there. He'd honest to fuck rip someone's head off."

"Calum?"

"Our Left Defenseman. Luke's man. They're a real deal. So, mess with one, you get the other. Though Luke's kinda soft, so he might say a word or two but nothing lethal like Calum."

Niall talks about his team with a tinge of excitement in his words; a way that seems like only if you asked would he talk about them forever.

"To be honest, and I don't mean this in an offensive way," Zayn chuckles, "but I didn't think hockey players were so. You know, open. With who they liked and. You all seem," Zayn wiggles his fingers in Niall's direction and hopes he's gesturing clearly enough, "You know what I mean."

"I do know what you mean," Niall smirks, "and don't take this the wrong way, but this is one of those moments where I'm going to repeat meself. Ya don't know us, Zayn. But it's cool," he shrugs again.

Zayn remembers about Niall's food, takes a needed moment to bring himself together because Niall isn't looking away and Zayn forgot _how_ to look away.

"I uh, bought you McDonald's. S'was hours ago, I know, so it might be cold but—”

"What? Sick, Zayn. Give it over. I appreciate it, but you didn't need to, babe."

"Yeah," Zayn whispers. He gets up with his bag in his hand. "I know, but, you would've done it for me," he mumbles, unzipping it and reaching for the full bag. "The time you stayed with me at the dentist. That was horrible, I'm still sorry for that."

Zayn's standing by the bed, laying out the dishes. He's closer to Niall, and they can hear the other inhale each breath. But Zayn still internally jolts when Niall speaks so low.

"What'd I tell you, Zayn?" he mumbles. His left dimple is fully blossomed, disrupting the smooth skin of his cheek. "None of this figurative debt anymore."

"It's not," Zayn shakes his head. "I'm not here for debt. Not at all."

For once, Niall doesn't sport his easy grin. He doesn't hold his lazy gaze nor the laidback composure his body wears every single second of his life.

His eyes bulge the smallest, and his mouth drops open slightly before he closes it again. The flush crawling up his neck matches his lips perfectly. And Zayn literally feels like melting when Niall looks down to chuckle quietly, a blush covering every patch of pale skin.

"Good," Niall says. And Zayn knows, he's just as speechless.

***

Niall isn't allowed on the ice for a bit after that, his father's orders. So he's grumpy and occasionally brief in the beginning but Zayn tries to make up for it with cooked meals his mother taught him and letting Niall control the remote whenever he's over.

Just because he can't play in the games doesn't mean he doesn't attend them, though. Niall sits in the bleachers and still wears his jersey; cheers on his teammates and is the first one out of his seat at the end of each game, already bouncing down each step to get where Liam and the rest are huddled together, whether they won or not.

With Theo staying with his aunt more often, Zayn hates that he, himself, has also been going to the hockey games, silent behind Louis and Niall and eyeing the food stand more than anything in fear his vision will land on something else more occupying but lethal.

He doesn't need to give a name to know who he's thinking about.

Niall's made of noise, Zayn's sure he is. Because he's standing more than not as the puck's smashed between sticks, stomping and clapping till the palms of his hands are stinging red. Redder than his mouth, that Zayn _can't_ help but look at. It's not his fault, really. Not when Niall always turns to look down at him when his team scores, the most innocent beam on his face that contradicts the sinful color his mouth sports. Or when a penalty's made he spins into Zayn's space, eyebrows disappeared under his hairline with a high-pitched "Did'ya see that? Zayn, you saw that dick move?!" Zayn doesn't see it, there's no way he can focus on anything else when Niall looks down at him like that, with unshielded blue eyes that gives Zayn heart tremors. They shouldn't be that blue, they shouldn't be _considered_ a color as basic as blue. They shouldn't be looking at _Zayn_.

Zayn makes it a point to bring his journal with him when he goes, because if he can't look at Niall without _honestly_ wetting his lips or bitterly fixing his pants and grumbling under his breath, he'll suffice with a sheet of paper that won't do him wrong.

He draws animated bleachers running away, draws a miniature version of himself sleeping on an active puck, chibi Nialls and Louis' with love-eyes towards Liam while he plays in the rink. Sometimes Niall notices, and Zayn only notices by the merry laugh that sounds in his ears, unlike the squawks or screeches that dervies from the Celtic boy next to him.

"Aw, Zaynie, look at me, I'm so tiny here," he giggles, roughly pointing against the paper. It's here where Zayn looks up at him, and he's suddenly too preoccupied to scold Niall for being careless.

Niall just laughs in a way that scrunches his face up, and while he continues to dote a tiny squeal interrupts the chuckles.

**Pop, I like someone and I don’t want to :(**

Zayn doesn't text his father often, but that doesn't interfere with Yaser being the number one man in Zayn's life; maybe even number one person.

**Son... Are you usin protection?**

**I like guys, dad.**

**I know that already. Now, are u using protection??**

**We haven't**..., Zayn sends first. **Like, we didn't do anything :/**

**Oh. Zayn you have it bad :o**

And the fact Yaser already knows this, knows without Zayn having to put it in many words. Zayn sends a sad smiley and types he misses him, hopes to see the family soon. Yaser returns the sentiment, gives Zayn a blessing and tells him he loves him dearly.

Phone put away, Zayn sneaks a look up at Niall, who's hugging his pale frame to himself and jumping on the balls of his feet with anticipation. His snapback makes his blond bangs flatten against his forehead, the ends holding their perpetual frizz that is a part of Niall like his limbs and blue eyes. Zayn makes the mistake of not looking away, because Niall licks his lips in the next second and makes his lips glossy, red wax becoming bloody. He bites his lip, swallows blatantly, and Zayn's a fool for following the wave of his throat, Adam's apple jumping clearly.

Zayn strives to bring a book next time, will drag his whole bookshelf if that'll help with a distraction.

There are days he visits Harry while he's working, because if Zayn smirks and coddles him enough, he'll be given a free bagel and a raspberry tart smoothie. And there's a day when Harry mindlessly says around folding a towel in half, "Niall's performing tonight, think you could stay?"

He doesn't mean harm, because Harry hasn't the slightest clue of the weird distant tango dance Zayn and Niall are performing, and Louis hasn't mentioned anything since. (Zayn's isn't sure why Louis' quiet about it, but they're both alike in that aspect so Zayn appreciates the silence.)

"Um." Zayn sips enough of the smoothie to give him a minor brain freeze. "Fuck," he taps his forehead, rejoices internally when Harry doesn't realize he's stalling. "Uh, cool. Sure. You're not able to stay, though?"

"Can't." Harry purses his mouth, puts a rude strand of hair back behind his ear. "Going to an art exhibit with Jeff. You'll stay though, right? I mean, I know you don't like him that much, not like you like me," Harry beams at Zayn, showing his teeth. "But I told Niall I'll be here and he'll be ecstatic knowing you're here."

Zayn swishes the raspberry taste in his mouth, makes the mistake of looking up at Harry because he's wearing a pout that's sinful.

"Guess I'll stay," he mutters. The drink lost its flavor, or his taste buds are deteriorating with the swelling thrum this news is forming in his mouth.

Harry cheers, hums a giddy tune for the remaining ten minutes of his shift. Zayn should've simply stayed home today. He has a brownie mix packet in his cabinet back home, and all he needed was confirmation from Louis that the weed in his drawer is still good. He could've been happily pliant on his sofa, scrolling through tumblr and laughing at every vine he comes across. Instead he stays frozen in his seat and hopes no one notices how cold he feels under his sweat.

He's aware when Niall gets there almost an hour later, and for some reason Zayn cannot fathom, he could've thought of an excuse the whole time he was there. He could've said Pez needed him last minute because she wanted to try a lasso lift or a different spiral. Maybe Caroline asked him to watch Brooklyn for a short time while she, Zayn doesn't know, fucking helped her brother make eggs or something. His last resort could've been that Kareem found someone else for Zayn to coach. But then that'll require actual effort and time to continue that lie and Zayn's too lazy for that.

Niall catches Zayn's eye after a quick survey around the room, tucked in a booth a few feet next to the low-rise stage Niall performed at last time. He's out of breath, running a hand through his hair that's a bit wet on the ends.

"Sorry sorry sorry," he greets, huffing and sitting across Zayn. "They told me last minute, rushed over here." His face holds the typical redness in his cheeks, splotchy down his neck where he's wearing a thin cotton shirt and an unbuttoned jean long-sleeve shirt on top, rolled to his elbows. Hands tapping the table quickly, he smiles at Zayn, a sudden shy smirk on his face that Zayn isn't used to.

"Hello." Zayn ducks his head slowly, runs a thumb over Harry's ring he has dangling from his necklace. "Excited for tonight?"

"Uh," Niall's eyebrows hike into his hair where it's fallen back down, complete irises in bloom. "Tonight? Like— What you mean?" He's fidgety, just a tiny bit, Zayn can tell. Because his knee's jumping under the table and he constantly licks his lips, makes the redness of them catch more of the fluorescent light above them.

"Aren't you going to," Zayn twirls a finger in the air, cocks his head to the side. "Perform? Or. Yeah, gonna perform soon, right?"

"Who told you that?" Niall asks, and it gently dawns on Zayn.

"Oh my fucking..." Zayn unlocks his phone, goes to call Louis and holds up a kind finger to Niall for the meantime and waits for Louis to pick up. "Hey, Lou, I—”

"Sorry, can't talk, honey," Louis hollers, Zayn has to pull his head back a bit. "I'm with Liam and Harry, at the moment. But if you're with Niall—” He brings his voice down a notch, "he is with Niall, right? Okay, bye, Zayn! Have fun with Niall, wear protection and whatnot!"

Zayn keeps the phone by his ear even after Louis hangs up, pokes his tongue into his cheek as seconds tick. He hums, exits out the call finally to place the phone by his elbow.

"I'm just gonna go home, then. If that's fine," Niall says, making circles on the table with the spilled sugar. "I heard Louis."

They set them up. For what? Zayn honestly cannot understand why, but the sullen turn of Niall's mouth peaks Zayn to sit up straighter. "What did they tell you?"

"Nothing," Niall answers, shaking his head and eventually smiling, though he gives a short laugh so Zayn doesn't think it was genuine. "Nothing important, I'll just." He points over his shoulder, hair framing his forehead, still wet. He took a shower before getting here.

"What for?" Zayn asks, slumping back in his seat. He knows their friends aren't mean, aren't malicious. So there was some input getting Zayn and Niall together tonight.

 **What the fuck did you guys do?** he texts Harry, because Louis will gleefully ignore him and Harry will feel more guilty with each passing second.

"Not sure while I'm here, now," Niall mutters. But he leans over the table easily and thumps the heel of his palm against the table as he sighs.

"You're busy?" Zayn continues, looking over to his screen when Harry's message comes in.

**We just thought you two would like a little unplanned date :((( are you mad?**

Zayn puts his phone away. "Are you hungry?" He has the morals to smile, not so out of place as Niall's when he first came in. "Don't leave, you're already here. That'll be kinda rude."

Niall opens his mouth to speak, points a finger at Zayn for emphasis before his eyebrows drop in confusion and he's left with a thoughtful pout. It makes his mouth pucker.

"You're weird," he gives instead of an actual answer.

When Zayn goes to reply, give a bit of banter to lure a fatal blush over Niall's skin, to make blue eyes cast down in mild embarrassment, someone comes along.

"Hey, Niall." It's Taylor, green apron still strapped around her torso as she cleans the table next to them. She gives Zayn a charming smile, a hyper wave.

"Tay Tay." Niall turns in his booth to see her clearly, throwing an arm over the back of the seat. It causes his rolled sleeve to pull taut over his arm, tracing a thick bicep Zayn forgot all about. How did Zayn forget?

He's so fucking mad at Harry.

"Performing tonight? You're here kind of early," she grins, wiping a table and restocking the container of napkins.

"M'actually _not_ performing," Niall laughs, messing with his ear. It's another habit Zayn's picked up on. "Didn't arrive with that impression, actually."

"Aw," she pouts, pushing blonde bangs behind her ear. "But you haven't performed in a while. Please? Just do a little cover now. Then you can go."

"Didn't bring me lucky lady," Niall pouts, gesturing with strumming fingers of his lack of instrument. Head still turned towards Taylor, the length of his neck is nagging at Zayn, forcing him to look down the smooth skin, the sparse ruffle of chest hair peeking out of his shirt. It's really... _gross_ , Zayn wants to thinks. But he only wonders if it smells like the cologne Niall's always wearing. Even wearing now, Zayn smells whiffs of it.

"I have a Fender Acoustic in the back," Taylor challenges, red-painted mouth smirking like she's won. With unsure noises coming from Niall's mouth as he shrugs, she turns to Zayn. "You're his friend? Convince him. I really want to watch him play, he's really good."

"Zayn can't convince me," Niall laughs, a squeal almost in the air when he hunches his back with crinkled eyes.

Zayn raises his eyebrows, opens his mouth with a bit of shock before nodding slowly to the side. He gives Taylor a knowing look, turns away before he returns the trembling leer.

"Hey." Zayn nudges his boot against Niall's ankle gently, rubs the area until Niall's looking at him, the mirth in his expression beginning to die. "What's wrong with a little show? Didn't stop you before."

"Don't have a song in mind," Niall responds with one hiccuping chuckle, back to a lazy grin.

"So sing one you've already done." Zayn twirls a piece of his hair between his fingers, leans over the table while he pushes the strand away, eye level with Niall. "Make use of the fact you're here, yeah?"

"Yeah, but." Niall swallows, carefree in his way as he shrugs again. "I don't know, kinda don't wanna wing it this time."

"Don't make us beg, Niall," Zayn chuckles. He has no idea what he's doing. "Put on a show, like last time. That left me fucking, breathless. On the edge of my seat." Niall only stares at him, while Zayn raises an eyebrow as he puts his chin on his hand. It's silent, and Zayn gets uncomfortable quickly, so he turns to Taylor and sighs, "Guess he's scared this time, I tried. Sorry, babe."

"Next time," she winks.

She walks away, leaves the two boys to themselves. Zayn looks over to find Niall narrowing his eyes at him, rubbing a hand over his chin. "You really wanted me to play?"

Zayn rolls his shoulders in a careless way, leans back and stuffs his hands down his pockets. "Wouldn't mind a show. A private show, even. I'm not picky."

"Private show, eh?" Niall looks like he's enjoying it.

He doesn't get the private show, but Niall performs _Tenerife Sea_ , keeps his eyes closed for most of the performance and struggles to look ahead instead of towards their booth.

***

Zayn doesn't expect to like Niall any more than he already does, because maybe it's been a while since the last time he was interested in someone, but he can't remember liking someone to the point he wants to _always_ be with them, and he wants to share all of his pastimes with him.

Zayn would never admit it, barely to himself even, but there's a stubborn part in his body that wants to ask Niall when he's going back to the ice rink, if he's practicing outside of games for now, if he enjoys the break.

He doesn't breathe a word.

Niall visits a night Zayn's babysitting Brooklyn, _Atlantis: The Lost Empire_ playing on the television as she's buried under a fort blanket.

"Hi?" Zayn greets, finding Niall holding a bag in his hand, an excuse of a tanktop that shows his chest and ribs clearly. It's the first time Zayn's actually seen his bare arms, and Zayn’s shoulders honestly drop with the breathy exhale he releases.

He doesn't know where the Niall he first seen went, months ago with the snottiest mouth. Because now a man stands across Zayn and Zayn isn't used to feeling tipsy from someone's simple presence.

"Zayn?"

"Come in," Zayn chokes out, swallowing to moisten his throat. He should drink more water; not having a strict trainer (no trainer at all!) is fucking him up.

"I'm dropping off Liam's gear, he's not home and Louis said to come here. I swear to God I really thought he was here."

"That's fine?" Zayn says, a question in his tone because he doesn't see the big deal. "Still, come in. I'm with my goddaughter right now, watching a movie."

"Aw," Niall coos, timidly stepping inside. "That's cute, how old is she?"

Zayn isn't able to answer when she pops up, tugs on Zayn's sleeve in a hyper manner. "Zayn?"

"Yeah, babes? Say hi, don't be shy."

"Why is he so white and shiny-looking?"

Niall's the first to laugh, putting his back into it when his mouth scrunches up in chaotic laughter. "I wish I can answer that," he says before Zayn can begin to open his mouth around the humiliation. "But me mam told me when I was a baby I rolled around in glue a lot, so it never washed off."

"Ew," she giggles, putting a chubby hand over her mouth.

Formality goes by quickly. And the next thing Zayn knows Niall's sitting on the sofa with a purple plastic crown on his head, helping Brooklyn divide the jelly beans on the coffee table.

"You can get one, because you were a nice prince," she nods at him, pushing a messy pile in his direction.

"I thought I was a princess." Niall sports an impressive pout, dazzled jewels of his crown tilting slowly.

"But you're a boy," she laughs, fixing her own yellow crown that's tipping over.

"Some boys want to be princesses," Niall smiles, tilting his head and fluttering his eyelashes. It's a moment later that he turns to Zayn, silently pegs a question. _Is this okay?_

Zayn nods firmly, grins shortly before Niall's talking to Brook. Caroline isn't homophobic (obviously), and she's never been against diverse roles. But it's nice, that he still bothered to ask.

Brooklyn falls asleep after the movie's done, and Zayn lays her in his room with the door cracked open. He finds Niall cleaning up the living room, finding stray candy on the floor and piling them in his hand.

"You could leave that there, I'll clean up in a little."

"No, it's fine." Niall rises to his feet, looks around for any jelly beans he might've missed. "Gonna leave in a few, so."

"Have to be somewhere?" Zayn asks while he folds a few of the blankets and stacks them on the beanbag, finds Brooklyn's toy piano stuffed between two cushions.

Niall shakes his head, hands over the last blanket. "Not really."

"You can," Zayn starts, feeling his tongue flop uselessly for a moment. He knows what he's going to stay, and he knows he can say it with the heaviest nonchalance if he plays his cards right. But Zayn also knows this feels important, in an unspoken way that maybe Niall is aware of too. And this could make or break whatever structure they're forming together. Go hard or go home, right? "You could stay," Zayn breathes, loosening the band tying his hair together to wrap around his wrist. "M'just gonna watch a movie until Brook's mom gets here. I'll order pizza, if you want."

Niall agrees after a long second passes, keeps his gaze to the floor as he bends down to pick up a crayon. He might be just as flustered as Zayn, so Zayn makes it a point to keep it cool for both of their sakes.

They watch _Interstellar_ , because Niall asked for Zayn's favorite movie and didn't relent after Zayn informed him the movie was three hours long, and it wasn't a typical laidback movie, that it was a movie you'd have to put strenuous thought into to enjoy it.

Niall watches the whole thing, rubs his chin languidly at parts, doesn't ask questions. He chuckles when he's supposed to, and Zayn's seen this movie more times than he could count, so if he gets distracted for more than half of it, it's okay. There are more important matters at the moment, better things to evaluate and analyze and hypothetically bust a nut to each time Niall mindlessly licks his lips or rubs too close up his own thigh.

Zayn hates the world.

Niall also orders the pizza, didn't put up a big argument on his part since he ignored most of Zayn's while he called. So they continue watching the movie and he asks if Zayn could pause it when the pizza gets there and he also ordered a strawberry milkshake for Zayn because _they didn't have raspberry so this was the closest to it._

Zayn's burdened beyond belief all his immature hatred towards Niall was a waste. Because he isn't a fuckboy. And Zayn's doppelganger frowns and hides in a corner for realizing how much of a hypocrite he really is.

They watch the rest of the film in a silence Zayn can enjoy, not hyperventilate in. He notices when Niall tenses up at proper scenes and his relaxed breath when all is fine and his suppressed groan when something doesn't go as planned. They finish the movie and Niall leans forward with his elbows on his knees for a second before sitting up straight.

"I can tell why this is your favorite movie. It has all that Astronomy laced heavily into it."

"Yeah," Zayn mutters, pitifully ignoring the flame of insecurity piercing his flesh. "I know it's. Like, it's pretty dull, at parts. And it can get confusing so if you don't like it, I mean. You don't—”

"No, I liked the movie," Niall assures, looking at Zayn evenly with a grin. "This was really fuckin' interesting. It's considered sci-fi, but." He waves a hand in the air, and it's deliberate. When his hand comes down slower and lands on Zayn's knee softly, barely igniting impulse, it's purposely and Niall takes a moment to continue talking, flicking his blue gaze to his hand back to the screen.

"I think people don't look past that, you know? They see a movie about space and that's it, but. Stop me if I'm yapping shit, but it's also a love story, right?"

"Hm?" Zayn purses his mouth. "It's not shit, I'm just not following. What do you mean?"

Niall moves his hand away, only to use them as he tries to explain in the simplest way possible. "Again, stop me if I don't make sense, 'cause m'not even sure what I'm tryin' to say. But the whole time Cooper's goal is to get back to Murphy, yeah? His plan is to find a safe place for his daughter, specifically, and that is what's keeping him going. His love for his daughter. And then when they're debating on what planet to land on, Amelia tries to back up her theory with the idea of love. That it's the only concept that transcends dimension and time, I think she said. That," he licks his lips, burning with nerves and Zayn unconsciously touches his arm to continue, not letting any word go. "Think she said somethin' like, they're millions of lightyears away from their loved ones, yet they don't give up their mission, _because_ of them, you know? Am I making sense?"

Zayn enjoyed the movie because it was a whole crash course in one sitting. He loved the film because everything about it was backed up with proof or reasonable theories; from the black hole near Saturn's ring; the dead silence outer space inhabits; the physical dimension of time. He's seen this movie more times than he's proud of and never—

"I'm talking shit." Niall laughs offhandedly, puts a hand over his face as a blush creeps over his skin. "I paid too much attention to it, tried to make sense and I didn't."

"You made, a lot of sense," Zayn expresses after he sorts his brain in order. "I never even looked at it that way, and now I won't ever see this movie the same way again. And I mean that in an awesome way."

"You picked the movie," Niall mutters, rubbing the slit of his jeans where his knee's showing. The thick scar is in view, shifting as Niall moves his leg side to side restlessly. He picks at a piece of crust in the pizza box, plucks it back in place. "Should be going. It's pretty late."

"I'll walk you," Zayn manages to speak after a bit, gathering the trash around them as Niall takes two empty cups to the sink.

"Had a good time," Niall says at the door, stuffing the shoelaces in his shoe before standing upright. "Liked the movie, ate pizza. It was ace." He lifts a thumbs up as he steps out.

"Brook might have a favorite now," Zayn says, wrapping his arms around himself. "Who knows? Maybe I do, too."

Niall chokes on thin air, and Zayn instantly stares at the blood rushing through his chest. His chest is more red than his neck's ever been, and Zayn does not need to know that so late a night. "That movie," Niall murmurs, looking down at his shoes. "The power of the stars, my horoscope read something like that today."

He's diverting the conversation and Zayn picks up on it instantly, struggles to mask a typhoon of emotions threatening to ask countless questions. "Right. Thanks though, bro. It was cool."

"The coolest," Niall nods, throwing another thumbs up before he's walking away.

Zayn's a gentleman, most of the time. But he can't be a gentleman tonight. So he closes the door as soon as the opportunity presents itself, busies himself with cleaning the kitchen and playing Destiny on the console as he waits for Caroline to come back.

"You look a bit flushed, darling. Everything alright?" she asks, a sleeping girl on her shoulder.

Zayn wants to lie, wants to say he's fine, just a bit under the weather. But more than that, he wants to tell _someone_. He wants to gush over the events and what happened before and the disbelief that he ever hated a poor soul like Niall's.

Zayn is the poor soul, in every way.

"Yeah, I think so," he answers, giving a tight smile. "Can't complain."

He honestly has no reason to complain.

***

Zayn feels a bit wobbly on the ice at first; he hasn’t skated in so long. His thighs aren't cooperative and he has trouble straightening his knees at times. Nor do his ankles successfully lift him off the ground properly. But after an intense Beethoven piece he goes over a couple of times, the tweak in his joints is back, is welcomed.

He traipses along the rink for too long, scars the ice beneath his feet and silently bides his greeting until the cold seeks its way under his long-sleeve shirt. He bites his lip to shy off the growing chatter and keeps his hair down to cover his ears; both sides of his hair grew in and rest a bit after his jaw.

The phone in Zayn’s pocket vibrates again, signals Niall’s text and he won’t admit it but Zayn’s wasting time on the ice alone because he wants to text Niall.

He doesn’t like to remember when they’ve exchanged numbers, because it was awkward and Zayn asked with a blubbering mouth and Niall burned just a shade lighter than his chapstick and the silence that emitted as they passed their phones was so distressful.

But now they’re texting, they’re “friends”, despite Zayn biting his tongue for a while. Despite Niall’s sheepish, “Thought I was a fuckboy, Zaynie. Gonna prank call me, that it?” Despite Zayn’s instant deny, that it wasn’t that at all. They’re on better terms.

**Gutted I missed last weeks , but I’m gona play like a pro tomorrow haha ! You watch Zayn !!**

**Haven’t been on the ice since the head incident, yeah?** Zayn wants to make sure.

**Yeh exactly. Hope I still got the fire in me ya kno ?? Ha**

Zayn peers around his surroundings, the vast emptiness he inhabits. It’s weird, really fucking weird, because normally nothing makes him more happy than being alone, than being alone in his natural element, on this _ice_. But with a deep breath and humming a song in his head to calm the chaos in him, he texts, **Wanna get a head start? :)**

He’s only being friendly, Zayn cannot express that enough. He did the same for Harry a few times and asked the same to Perrie every _other_ time and he’d offer Louis too if his best friend at least knew how to put on a pair of ice skates. So he’s simply asking Niall.

**You’d go right now ?**

**Yeah. Actually skating around now lol :B**

Niall doesn’t text back after that, causes Zayn to lose focus and almost twist his ankle when he tries to turn left too early. Zayn’s not used to rejection; which doesn’t mean he always pulls at parties nor has the person he desires for the night eager to please him. He’s just…not used to this kind of rejection. Especially from Niall, who’s mostly pursued Zayn up to this point.

Zayn thinks he came on too strong, too forward. The fact he’s already skating, already there makes it seem like he planned ahead. Or expected Niall to agree. He overthinks about texting again, an aloof repeal with an Lol! stamped on the end. Maybe he could use one of his old ideas from the time he tried to get out of staying for Niall’s false performance, already plans on texting Caroline to ask if he could watch Brooklyn as further proof.

**Ok , sick ! Meet you there :)**

The phone stays in Zayn’s pocket after that as he stuffs his hands in his sweater’s pockets, keeps his gaze on his black skates for the whole fifteen minutes and listens to Magic! to ease himself.

He notices Niall’s there after the blond has his skates on, leaning on the entrance with his arms crossed.

“Hey you,” he smiles, pushing on his foot until he’s gliding over to Zayn, hands dropped by his sides. “Didn’t want to sneak up on you. You seemed focused on something.”

“So you thought watching me was a better alternative, freak?”

There was a time Zayn would seethe with Niall’s presence alone. Would say this remark with a sharp bite and a throbbing eye roll that’d cause Niall to flush in embarrassment, at least.

This time Zayn doesn’t control the growing smirk on his face, the tremor in his ribcage he refuses to name.

He couldn’t control any of this if he had the choice, anyway.

“Wasn’t watching,” Niall shakes his head, chuckling. His breath freezes in the air and dissipates above him. “Just got here.”

He swivels around to face Zayn, their skating becoming more of a slow trot as they continue moving.

Niall keeps up most of the conversation, holds his usual confidence endearingly as he picks up where Zayn drops his answers, statements.

“Excited for the competition?” Niall eventually asks, after they’ve circled the rink more than four times. Zayn lost count, Niall’s swiveling on the ice around him too much to pay mind to anything else.

“Mm. Yeah.” He and Perrie perform in only a few weeks, so near Zayn already feels the first waves of nerves beginning to prick his skin. “A little nervous, but. She’s been great. Perrie will do fantastic.”

Niall focuses on his skates. “So would you,” he mutters. “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask for some time, but I thought you’d never answer since I’m a fuckboy—”

“Nooo, don’t bring that up again,” Zayn groans, covering his face with one hand.

“I’m teasing,” Niall smiles, mindlessly reaching for Zayn’s hand. Zayn freezes, forms a loose fist only for Niall to set his hand by his side again, pulling back his own pale hand to stuff into his pocket. “But what made you start figure skating?” he asks seriously.

Zayn expected any question but that. He mulls over his thoughts, moves the fingers of the hand Niall touched before grinning softly.

“My dad,” Zayn answers. “He, um. He was always into it, and he put me in a skating class when I was five, so since then. Well, I’ve been skating for most of my life willingly, but he showed me it first.”

“So it was an experiment at first? He didn’t, I don’t know, force you into skating as time went on?”

“Oh, no,” Zayn shakes his head. “The complete opposite. If I didn’t like skating that first day my dad would’ve stopped taking me.” Zayn doesn’t mention how amazing his father is, how lucky he was to be a child of Yaser’s. “My dad’s very liberal, in the good way.”

“Sounds like a cool guy.”

“The absolute coolest,” Zayn continues, kicking a piece of chipped ice with his skate’s blade. “He’s, like. Very against sexism. To the _max_ , bro. And I remember when I was young,” Zayn chuckles before he’s finished; the story’s funny now. “When I was young, not only was I the Muslim little boy, but I also did figure skating. So you already know how that went. Anyway, he sat me down one time, after I told him it bothered me. And he told me if I wanted to stop skating for _myself_ , that I should do it. No take backs,” Zayn reminisces. “But if it was for _them_ , to let them sit on it.”

“Your da said that?” Niall giggles.

“Yeah. To an eight year old kid,” Zayn shakes his head, a reluctant smile on display. “He also said that me figure skating didn’t make me less of a man, you know? That it didn’t make me feminine. And that if it _did_ there was nothing wrong with that, either.”

Zayn’s mind refreshes the time he came out to his family, Trisha’s struggling acceptance and Yaser’s immediate hug that meant more to Zayn than anything else.

“That’s a lot for words for an eight year old,” Niall chuckles.

“I know, right? Didn’t know half of what he said at the time. But eventually it did help. Love my dad more than anyone else so,” Zayn shrugs. “Came in handy.”

Niall bites on his lower lip, nods in the silence that follows as he looks across the bleachers, surveys the ring of ice they’re in. “So he, that blessed man, made all this possible?” he says, a hand flailing precisely over Zayn’s body.

Zayn almost trips with Niall’s heavy gaze, the coldness in his cheeks that brightens them to a hearty color, his mouth that’s a soft red. His lips look a bit chapped from the frigid temperature but Zayn still wants to lean in, wants to lean in and into Niall’s space even more.

Stabilizing his footing, Zayn purses his mouth, looks to the ice in hopes the blush itching his jaw would behave. The ice’s never failed him before; he only hopes it doesn’t today.

“Yeah, I guess,” He licks his lips, flicks a piece of hair over his ear when he looks back at Niall. “Wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him, so. Yep.”

“You’re kind of a big deal,” Niall points at him, swerves until he falls in step with Zayn next to him. “The last Olympics were incredible.”

“You watched them?”

Niall rolls his eyes, as if Zayn is absurd. But the crimson of his face only deepens. “’Course. Think everyone in the world saw you.”

“That’s not comforting,” Zayn shakes with laughter. “I lost the gold medal.”

“I’m still not sure how,” Niall counters, raising his eyebrows when he looks at Zayn. “You were doing fucking _great_.”

Zayn doesn’t mention he purposely fell in the triple jump. He doesn’t recall his intentional efforts to _not_ win first place; didn’t want all the press and media coverage he knew would’ve came with it. So instead he fights with his own grin, loses when it wobbles into place and he’s blushing, facing every direction except Niall’s as he thanks him.

It’s quiet after that, and Zayn’s only a tiny bit uncomfortable with it. Just a tiny bit, because he still wants Niall there. And it sucks and it makes Zayn internally shriek that out of all people, out of all people, it’s Niall. But, it’s _Niall_.

Zayn feels a nudge against his shoulder, and he looks up to find Niall leaning down to catch his eye, give his shoulder another soft push. “Skate for me.”

“What?” Zayn blanks.

“You’ve seen me skate. Think it’s only fair since you saw me a few times in me prime. Perform a previous skit, I don’t mind.”

Zayn blanches, has trouble moistening his mouth that’s gone dry as Niall stays there, looking back at him seriously.

“Skate for me?” he asks again. He sees the turmoil cascading upon Zayn’s face, a not-so-distant world disaster ready to deplete whatever it comes across. “Just once, yeah?”

“God,” Zayn grumbles, rubbing his eyes. “Are you really asking me to perform? Like, legit?”

“So legit,” Niall confirms.

Zayn grumbles once more, wipes the side of his hand under his eye before groaning loudly. “Fine. Fine fine fine. Only because you sang Ed Sheeran to me.”

“I did not,” Niall denies, blue eyes bulging wide.

“You so did,” Zayn rolls his eyes. “It’s not even a doubt, babe.” Niall stutters some more, but nothing coherent comes out so Zayn looks into his pockets for his iPod. “Here. Go to the Sound Deck and put on _Cornfield Chase_ , from Hans Zimmer.” It’s only a two-minute track and Zayn wants to get it out of the way.

“Didn’t he compose the music from Interstellar?”

Niall remembers, and…Zayn didn’t think he’d forget right away but he _remembers_.

“Yeah,” he stammers, shooing Niall towards the direction in the next second. He needs time to regain his control, school his focus. Niall’s the most distracting human being Zayn’s met, and he’s best friends with _Louis_ , of all people.

Niall glides away with a smirk that could be considered evil if Zayn didn’t know him so well. And then that realization makes Zayn freeze in a way that has nothing to do with the cold blanketing him.

“Ready when you are,” Niall calls, hands inserting the plug into the iPod.. He’s standing behind the glass wall, patiently waiting for Zayn’s okay.

Zayn believes if he asked for at least ten more minutes to mentally prepare himself, Niall would agree without a problem. He’d probably give Zayn as much time as he needs and join him on the ice again which’ll be the complete opposite of what Zayn needs right now. So whatever, Zayn’ll just have to suck it up.

“Okay,” he stutters. His voice is low but travels throughout the vast space, reaches Niall in no time and Zayn is in his element here. This is _his_ ice. He’s trying to trick himself into seeing Niall as the hockey imbecile he was—is. Or _should_ be. If only he could view the blond in an undermining light, Zayn could grapple with the finesse he _knows_ he has. Only, he can’t see Niall in any other way as he does now, which is 100% nerve-racking, but Zayn will channel the nerves into his footing and precision.

The song plays, and the beginning is light, and Zayn instantly awakens the memory of this dance. Airy traces into the ice that amount to _nothing_ , he tries to show. The whole performance seems to amount to nothing, because seconds lengthen and he’s stuck in child’s play.

Until his skates move on their own accord when the piano keys are beaten, the two-note melody causing his feet to scratch the ice and he needs to remember this. Zayn needs to remember this moment whenever he doubts himself, whenever he’s nervous for a performance. This is why he does it, _right now_. Because he honestly doesn’t think of what he’s doing. All he does is focus on the song and his body takes him from there. He hasn’t skated in so long that he actually forgot it. He forgot what made him fall in love for the first time and he wholeheartedly knows he’ll hold onto this moment for as long as he can.

Zayn lets his body show the work, the spin, a lift here and the wind in his face brings tears to his eyes. His vision is blurred and there’s a high chance he’ll land on the wrong side of his foot or he’ll collide with the wall but this is also the part where he can’t control his skates to slow down, nor summons the care to wipe his eyes clear and see where he’s going.

He needs to remember that the performance lasts as long as he’s moving, so he could keep going if the song was to end.. And there’s a burdened thought that he doesn’t want to stop. Zayn feels if he glides fast enough he’ll become the blur his view has taken; maybe he’s transcending time and there’s a fleeting thought that maybe he won’t have to stop. There’s no reason to if the uplifting feeling is everything Zayn desires.

The current steps don’t follow the original skit, and Zayn realizes a little too late, but his combination spins are rigorous, and an upright appears that Zayn barely recalls from the first time. Focus on one point, Kareem screams in his ear. _One point. Avoid it. Avoid the dizziness!_ Zayn doesn’t feel sluggish, but he has trouble breathing for a second when the wind stops his inhale. The after-sting of hair hitting his face is biting, and Zayn blinks repeatedly to dislodge the salt water only for more to take its place.

The melody ascends, and Zayn follows it, keeps his toepick cemented into the spot with a dizzying spin, dances his way towards the beat and he needs to spin again, he reminds himself when a sliver of consciousness returns to him. There are upcoming spins that quicken in succession, and Zayn’s fatigue in a way that has his chest expanding and his legs tensing with the side edge of the blades thinning the ice. Just a few more, just as many as he can squeeze in.

Zayn stops suddenly, in time when the song pointedly ends. The track lifted him to the peak and dropped him to the base in the same moment, so abrupt it takes a second for him to grasp his bearings and come alive to the scenery around him.

Oh yeah, he’s at the ice rink. And his lungs work properly as they heave in gulps of air that scrape down his dry air passage. He swallows to deflect a potential dry throat, slumps his shoulders forward to rest a little and is surprised he doesn’t feel as wobbly as before. He feels. . .sated.

“What the fuck.”

Zayn turns to Niall plopping down on the ice roughly, huffing as he comes closer.

“Zayn, what the— holy _shit_ did you seriously just do all that?”

He should respond, should blink more instead of staring blankly as Niall comes closer. Zayn’s having a small problem reeling in his reflexive system.

“You did not— You _did_ ,” Niall continues to beam, running his hands through his hair. “That was phenomenal, that was breathtaking. Why haven’t I seen that before? Why _haven’t_ I seen that before?”

“Sorry, I,” Zayn blurts. He smoothes his tongue against the roof of his mouth before talking again. “Forgot about that one, actually,” he murmurs, coming to grips with reality slowly. “Yeah, kind of. Didn’t perform that in a while.”

“That was amazing, _you_ were amazing,” Niall shakes his head, white teeth fully gleaming at Zayn. “God, Z. You blew my fucking mind.”

“Thank you,” Zayn mutters, smiling what he hopes shows his gratitude instead of the remaining jitters that won’t leave his body; Niall’s making them come back tenfold.

“Don’t thank me, _I_ should be thanking you. That was fucking _mandatory_ to see. _Everyone_ needs to see that ‘least once in their life.”

“I can, like.” Zayn feels a bit at ease, but Niall’s unabashed praise will knock him over soon. So Zayn forces himself to speak evenly and hold Niall’s stare. “I can show you a few tricks, if you’re game,” he offers, hoping it’ll derail Niall’s train of thought. He'll go over what he and Perrie've put together.

“I do know a few tricks, thank you very much,” Niall sticks his tongue out, content.

“Yeah?” Zayn’s mouth curves into a smirk. He didn’t expect that.

Niall nods. “Whenever I go over me friend’s Melissa’s, she watches a bit of skating. Can’t tell her to change it, anyway; her telly and all.”

“Someone sounds grumpy that they know a little about ‘figure skating.’ Thought you hated it, hmm?”

Niall waves a hand in the air, dismisses the conversation. Zayn knows he’s diverting, so he’ll let it be.

Zayn puts on _PCH_ , enjoys Niall’s shocked expression when the rap verse begins more than he should.

“Keep up, big guy,” he teases Niall, after he misses the cue when Zayn calls _loop jump_.

“Listen, pretty boy, I got this.”

Niall’s a little flustered, determined. If the heavy set between his eyebrows is a thing to go by.

(It’s a big thing, a _taunting_ thing.)

Zayn names a _lutz_ when the part comes along, and Niall knows the procedure and can follow Zayn’s stepping but not the actual maneuver. Zayn shouts _layback_ , and Niall joyfully throws his head back with the act as he twirls on the ice playfully, more purposeful brusque than fluid movement. Niall misses a _crossover_ , nails a twizzle that Zayn’s rightfully impressed by, makes Zayn snort with laughter when an easy _toe loop_ has him almost toppling before he rights his footwork.

It’s the _hydrant lift_ that catches the both of them off guard.

“A hydrant,” Zayn calls, casually. It’s only because Niall’s been doing good so far, so Zayn’s reasonably casual about it.

“A what?” Niall asks, raising his hands because Zayn’s already skating towards him, ready for the step.

“A hydrant!”

“I don’t know what that is,” Niall stresses. “What’s that? I don’t—”

“You don’t know what that is?” Zayn interrupts, Niall barely a short glide away. “Oh shit, never mind—”

Zayn’s a professional figure skater; he has a fucking _career_ out of it. Yet he can’t dig his blade deep enough on time. So when his skate sticks to the ground the other keeps sliding, and the collision of their bodies knocks Zayn’s head back and he flails his arms before the impact with the ground.

The ice doesn’t meet him, which he expected. He tensed up for the slick layer to stick to his sweater and his pants, curl into his hair for a minor headache. But what meets him and stays is Niall, cascading a warmth that knocks Zayn’s breath away as much as the clash.

Niall caught Zayn’s leg before it gave way under him and pulled him up from the grip under his thigh without thought, caused Zayn’s skate to unlatch from the ice. So Niall drifts backward with a body draped around him. It takes some time before Niall bores his toepick deep enough to abruptly halt them in place.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Zayn gasps, looking down to find Niall’s shoulder taking up his whole view. The last notes of the song are fading, and above it Zayn hears his ragged breathing more than anything. “Holy shit, what the fuck,” he says to no one.

There’s a forearm around Zayn’s torso, keeping him pressed to the body in front of him. And a hand’s steady grip doesn’t loosen where it’s wrapped around the meat above his knee, leg hitched a few inches in the air.

Zayn’s teeth chatter noticeably, and he shudders. It has absolutely nothing to do with the cold.

Niall lets go of him in the time it takes for Zayn to chart in memory the feel of Niall’s hands on him, which isn’t a long time. And there’s a heavy space separating them, making Zayn blurt, “What the fuck, I just. Sorry, _sorry_ ,” more than once.

There’s no reason to skate anymore, even if Niall wanted to; Zayn’s shaking under his skin, can visibly see his hand tremble when he brings it close to his face.

He retrieves his iPod in silence, goes to the lockers to find Niall quiet, back turned to Zayn as he puts on sneakers.

“That was,” Zayn has a sudden urge to fill the gaping silence that’s drowning him, “Yo, that was sick, really.”

With shriveling dignity, Zayn sits to take his skates off. He doesn’t expect the loud laugh he releases in the next moment. “Damn, Niall. That was funny, I um.” He clears his throat and stands up straight. They’re beating around the bush and Zayn’s never been good at that, actually. So trying to ease the tension, he chuckles, “Imagine I fell, yeah? Thanks for the lift, bro. Haha, that was. . .that was something.”

As much as the collision, or even more so, Zayn doesn’t expect Niall standing right in front of him after his boots are on. It’s been pitch silent for enough time that Zayn didn’t think a reply of any kind was on the way. So as he stands there he waits for Niall’s face to crumble in laughter or for the rough pat he sometimes gives Zayn’s shoulder when he’s trying to play distant.

But Niall leans in slowly, and Zayn has enough time to stop it, really. Zayn pinpoints the sharp stubble brushing his chin, the sheen of the persistent chapstick. He’s reminded of the green flecked in blue eyes, notices with vivid clarity where the brown roots start to grow in. He has more than enough time to stop it, ‘cause Niall keeps his gaze on Zayn’s hazel eyes while he frames his face with pale hands, deflects any mirth in his expression when he kisses Zayn.

Only a tap, but with enough pressure that Zayn tastes the wax. His lips feel fuller than Zayn imagined, _way_ softer than Zayn’s and shocks a warmth that vibrates down Zayn’s arms.

He pulls away just as slowly, looks between Zayn’s eyes before backing away and gathering his stuff together.

“Sorry,” he confesses after Zayn’s silent for long. “I didn’t, didn’t plan that. Swear I needed t’do that at least once, Zayn.” He shakes his head roughly, turns towards his bag with a rough jerk as he zips it closed. “Shit. Shit, I fucked up. Zayn, just. I didn’t mean harm. And Perrie, she’s. She’s a good girl, I’m so— Just forget that, honestly.”

A questioning hum is settling in Zayn’s mouth, but the kiss stamped it closed for this moment and Zayn’s mind is in overdrive, piecing a _lot_ of needed information in proper order. A lot makes so much sense.

“Zayn, can we, you know.” Niall gestures briskly towards the door, huffs a sharp breath as time ticks and Zayn doesn’t move, _at all_.

“Did you just… You said Perrie?” Niall gapes his mouth before slamming it shut again. “Pez and I? We’re just, that’s nothing, really. Nothing’s there.”

As the words ring Niall’s shoulders deflate. “Oh,” he blushes, peering over the lockers while his cheeks flush a deep red hue. “Well, this is, um. Great! That’s great, I guess.”

“It’s, fruit punch?” Zayn asks, causing Niall to appraise him quietly, the painful blush blemishing every patch of pale skin. “I thought,” Zayn licks his lips, shudders when he thinks ‘ _Perrie?_ _What the fuck?_ ’ before sighing softly. “Thought it was cherry, all this time.”

Niall blinks, the muscle in his jaw tenses.

Zayn licks his lips again, takes a step.

They both make the move, a second off but they move forward and Zayn grips Niall’s face too roughly, but he wants his lips to land exactly where they did before. Wants to taste the fruit punch longer. Wants his lips to be stained with the crimson color by the night, if he has a say.

Niall grabs his waist with one hand, grips Zayn’s bicep in the other and pulls him closer, walks forward and Zayn can feel the stuttering breath Niall emits when Zayn is against the wall.

Zayn doesn’t know if he regrets kissing Niall as late as now, when he could’ve traced Niall’s tongue with his own a long time ago. Yet when they’re leaving, and Zayn looks up to ask Niall a question he instantly forgets, Niall gives a few seconds before he’s kissing Zayn again, biting his lip and pulling at it softly with teeth that thrive a simmer deep in Zayn’s body.

Zayn thinks waiting can pay off in some cases.

***

It’s pretty bothersome that Zayn hasn’t total control of his life. When Niall manages to come over and Zayn can’t help—can’t help at all—but think if Niall’s there for him???? Is he over to see him and Louis?? ? Did Louis invite him and Niall didn’t even know if Zayn was gonna be there? ? But Zayn does live there, so of course that thought must’ve crossed his mind. But Zayn doesn’t want to be presumptuous, _duh_.

Is the look Niall giving him the usual bro-pal look? ? Zayn doesn’t want to read into things, either. Doesn’t want to see something that was never there in the first place.

But it gets kind of funny when they’re left alone, “accidentally”, and Niall would start up a conversation; a simple conversation, at that. And Zayn fumbles over his response instead of usually dismissing Niall all together.

It gets hilarious when Niall addresses him in front of everyone else, about the game they’re watching; if he could babysit Theo this weekend since Greg won’t dare ask him; if he seen the latest feature on iFunny. And Zayn has to, has _to_ answer. Yet his tongue feels legitimately tied in his mouth, so it takes a slow moment tothink of what to say, though by the time he voices it, it’s too late and Louis’ looking for anything to grab onto.

“Cat got your tongue, Malik?” Louis sips his drink slowly, eyes on the television but his smirk makes his cheekbones appear haughtily.

“Nope.” Zayn’s the dumbass for encouraging him.

“Sure? S’like Niall asked you out on a date. You just froze, babe.”

 **Suck my dick** , Zayn texts Louis. He obviously doesn’t get a reply. But Niall’s growing silence and painful blush that Zayn takes a peek of each time he looks over is a response in itself.

And it’s so fucking, stomach-clenching uproarious today.

“You haven’t answered my question last night.”

Zayn internally shatters at that, turns to Niall slowly and forces his casual expression. “Hmm? What you mean?”

Niall smiles easily, curves an eyebrow down and shakes his head once before washing a plate, handing it over to Zayn. “You know what I’m talking about. I asked if you wanted to go somewhere. Like, outside of here. Or the rink.”

Zayn completely knows what he’s talking about.

They’ve been communicating more frequently, mostly via messages but they do occasionally meet up at the rink privately (after Zayn assured more times than he can count that he’s strictly gay; and he might’ve implied he liked doing gay things, too). There’s never a quickie nor a quick handjob in the lockers like Zayn’s used to, but he genuinely likes Niall’s company, his character and his choice of words when they speak. So he’s fine with the new arrangement.

“Um.” He places the plate in the dish rack for now. “Okay,” he says shakily. “Like where?”

“You like Barnes & Noble, right? Or, dunno. Fye?”

Those are Zayn’s favorite fucking stores. This is not a fucking drill.

“Yeah, they’re cool. How you know?”

Niall taps his forehead knowingly, turns the faucet off with his free hand. “Observant, babe.”

“Yeah, right,” Zayn snorts. He bets Louis must’ve told him.

“There are mainly disposable Barnes & Noble or Fye plastic bags in this house, and I know for a fact Louis isn’t an avid reader and he’s more of an mp3 guy. You love white or swiss cheese, not American. You prefer having your hair down, yet it gets in your eyes when you’re reading or on your phone or skating. So you tie it up out of frustration. You can cook exquisite meals flawlessly, but struggle through some things as mundane as homemade pancakes or white rice. Also, you’re really lazy, but hate messes. So you clean until it’s passable. Not ‘til it’s perfect.”

“You. . .” Zayn should be freaked out, should feel uncomfortable next to such a creeper. But, he doesn’t. And he knows it’s not since he likes Niall, because Jonah was the same way and Zayn liked him too, yet was weirded out when Jonah would voice these things. So Zayn doesn’t know why Niall’s current description has him maddeningly fizzing out of control and tempted to find the closest isolated building for the both of them. But instead he just says, “You fucker.”

Niall laughs, guffaws and his eyes turn into crescent slits that has Zayn screaming in his head, figuratively shoving utensils into his eye sockets so he doesn’t witness such a beautiful thing.

“Well, if you two aren’t done,” Perrie sighs, and where the fuck did she come from?

She comes over, appraises both of them separately before surveying inside the fridge. “False alarm, Lou,” she calls loudly. “They’re not doing anything.”

“Of course not, sweetums!” He and Liam were _just_ making out ferociously, Zayn’s 100% positive. What the fuck happened. “They’re in _hiding_. They’ve already eloped, we just can’t know about it yet.”

Zayn looks to the ceiling, and nope. There’s no god that’ll strike him dead out of this one. He needs to venture through the pains of life, anyway.

A shaky laugh erupts next to him, and it’s Niall. Of course it’s Niall; only he could make such an ugly noise sound like morning chime bells. He’s looking down at the sink, back turned to Perrie but Zayn can see the angry red puncturing his cheeks, the stuttering swallow of his Adam’s apple.

Perrie leaves confidently and eyes Zayn on her way out. And though Zayn can’t decipher the true meaning of her expression, he knows she knows, and Louis knows, so Liam and Harry must know, too.

He’s in the process of knowing, himself.

Zayn hates being so out of control of his own life.

***

It’s a pretty Saturday afternoon, with sun and enough of a calming wind that makes any time of the day a new start for the weekend. Which is exactly why Zayn stays indoors. Happily snuggled in his bed until well past three pm and only finding the energy to leave his domain since his stomach won’t stop growling.

He takes a nice shower, a long one to punish his anatomy for ruining his slumber. Throws on a pair of sweats he finds in the bathroom closet and grabs the closest tanktop on the floor.

Louis’ on the sofa when Zayn walks by. He might make himself pancakes after Niall’s absurd comment last week. He makes great pancakes, fuck off.

“Bro, you want some pancakes?” he calls, opening the cabinet for the pancake mix box and sugar. Hmm. He might add cinnamon. “They’re not _that_ bad,” he adds, since Louis stays silent. Zayn makes him one, anyway.

After finishing his food, he brings over Louis’, adds scrambled eggs since his pancake wasn’t the greatest, all drizzled in syrup the way Louis likes it and a glass of orange juice. Breakfast time is every time.

It’s when Zayn gets closer does he realize something’s off.

“Bro?” he says, because Louis’ slumped in the couch, looking straight ahead. The television is off, he isn’t on his phone, and he’s blatantly awake. Since he looks up at Zayn with red-rimmed eyes next.

“I fucked up,” he croaks.

It takes a bit of strict coaxing and Zayn inching the filled plate closer to Louis for him to explain.

“Me and Liam.” He shakes his head, shrugs and stabs the eggs roughly. “We just got into an argument last night. Was my fault, obviously. But still. It was pretty bad, and he didn’t text me this morning so I know, he’s still mad.”

“Well…” Zayn licks his lips, isn’t the greatest at comfort, which is why they always go to Harry at desperate times; he always tells you what you want to hear, and it helps for the meantime. “What happened?”

Louis shakes his head sharply again, jaw chewing aggressively as he blinks repeatedly. Tears are stuck to his eyelashes. “So fucking, just, embarrassing. I don’t even wanna talk about it.”

“Okay.” Zayn nods understandingly. It’s unnerving seeing Louis like this, no ambition at the moment. Humiliated in himself. “Wanna go somewhere? We can go out, yeah?”

“Was gonna go with El to the carnival, but she already had plans with Max so I didn’t want to intrude. And now I don’t want to do anything, sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Zayn gets up to sit next to Louis, slowly pries his head over until Louis has his head on Zayn’s lap while Zayn cards fingers through his hair. “If something fucked up, you have every right to want to stay here.”

At least he ate the food, Zayn reasons. Because Louis closes his eyes and breathes deeply once before succumbing to Zayn’s soft strokes through his hair.

Not that much time passes, just enough that Zayn didn’t expect Louis to say anything else. So he looks down immediately when Louis mutters, “I really fucking love him, Z.”

“Liam?” Zayn asks. He knows the answer, but if talking will help Louis he’ll ease him on.

Louis nods, rumbles Zayn’s sweats. “Just don’t know how to properly show it, you know?”

“I know.”

“Think I should blast _Sledgehammer_ the next time he calls,” he mumbles, picking at a loose thread in Zayn’s pants. “He likes Fifth Harmony, anyway. So it’ll work.”

“Do that, babes. He’ll appreciate it.”

Louis breathes another heavy sigh, curves closer into Zayn. “The other day, I texted him what he was doing, and he was pooping. And so was I, Zayn. It felt so real to me.”

“Oh God.”

“I don’t think I felt this way for Nick.”

Oh….Oh _God_. “Lou?”

“I know. Get my act together, man up and talk to him. But right now I don’t think I can be the one to confront him, Z. Not right now.”

Louis’ hair ruffles between Zayn’s fingers, so Zayn reaches into his pocket with his free hand for his phone. Already has the message app opened.

Niall texted Zayn this morning, a short good morning text that Zayn didn’t get to hours later, obviously.

**You think you can ask Liam if he could stop by and see Louis? :)**

It’s comical how quickly Niall replies. **Actually wit him now . Ya heard then huh ? :/**

**Just briefly. Only know something went down, but unsure what specifically.**

**Got it . We have Loki, is that fine ?**

**Yep** , Zayn adds a thumbs-up emoji, doesn’t tell Louis anything.

He knows he won’t hear the end of it later on when Louis badgers him for inviting Liam when he was ill-prepared, last night’s clothes on his back, oily hair. But that’s Louis’ fault.

It’s when there’s a knock on the door that Zayn realizes his own clothing, loose garments that barely do their job at covering him. He’s in his fucking _home,_ cut him slack.

“Can you open the door?” Louis asks. “I couldn’t get up if I tried.”

Zayn hums in confirmation, waits ‘til Louis slips off before he’s walking towards the door, messing with his shirt and fixing his pants as best as he can.

Niall’s the first one Zayn sees when he opens the door, since he’s the one who knocked. Liam stands behind him, looking down at Loki who’s sitting by his feet patiently, wagging his tail.

“Hey you.” Niall makes an effort to always use that greeting; constantly, consistently, faithfully. Potentially annoyingly if Zayn wouldn’t have picked up on the fact it was just theirs. They have something that’s just _theirs_ and Zayn needs to get a grip on life.

“Hey, um.” Zayn looks away, faces the ground for a second because the wood underneath his feet really does help settle some of the jumping static under his skin. He looks up to face Liam and whispers, “He’s over there,” tilting his head in Louis’ direction.

Liam purses his mouth, flares his nostrils and nods in appreciation, carefully moves around the little space between Niall and Zayn while Loki follows behind.

“Can I?” Niall motions with his hands towards the door, patiently waits on the doorstep.

“Oh.” Zayn wakes up from a little trance, too preoccupied with the immense of brunet on Niall’s head that overshadows the blond. “Of course, come in—”

“You didn’t say good night yesterday, fuckboy,” Louis says, loudly. Zayn cringes, notices Niall scrunching up his mouth in discomfort.

“I said night,” Liam consoles, tone low enough that Zayn tenses up to hear.

“Exactly. You just said ‘night.’”

“Wanna,” Zayn clicks his tongue when he looks at Niall, hops on the balls of his feet once before moving aside. “Come on, follow me.”

They have to pass Louis and Liam to get to Zayn’s room, there’s no other way around it. But Zayn keeps his head down and doesn’t return Louis’ glare and hopes they’re too busy communicating with each other to realize where he and Niall are going.

Zayn closes his door lightly after Niall follows through, sees Loki’s ears perk up right before the door meets the hinges.

“You skate?” Niall asks, pointing towards the beaten skateboard Zayn still has to put to good use.

“Well,” Zayn smirks lightly, sits down on the floor by the door. “’Course I skate, silly. Make yourself comfortable.”

Niall sits down on the edge of his bed, folds his hands between his spaced-out knees and examines the posters decorating the wall Zayn’s desk inhabits. “Reckon you pulled us in here ‘cause you don’t wanna be around for that,” his pale finger points in the direction of the living room. “Yet you have yer ear against the door. Am I missing something?”

Zayn tries to fight the snort he lets out; he ends up failing, of course. What did he expect. “No. Shut up. I don’t know what’s going on, Lou’s too embarrassed or something to tell me.”

“He shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Niall shrugs. “A bit more careful, yeah. And should think before doing things, but not embarrassed.”

“You know what happened?”

Niall sits himself on the floor, stretches his legs out in front of him and pulls his sunglasses resting on his head to lay next to him. “Well, yeah I do. Do you know Liam’s ex?”

“Um…” Zayn knows Louis mentioned someone before. “Was it Dani? Denny?”

“You’re talking ‘bout Danielle. Miss her, but no. Sophia.”

Zayn shakes his head in ignorance.

“Supposedly they bumped into Soph yesterday after the movie they watched, and mind you, she and Liam are still friends. Just friends, nothing more. Seriously, Li’s too up Lou’s ass to even think of having anything for her. Anyway, I think Louis tried to make a statement or summat. Pushed too hard trying to show Soph what she lost and. Think it backfired or something.”

“Aw shit,” Zayn frowns.

“Yep. Liam texted Soph afterwards to apologize for Lou’s behavior, Lou noticed and felt it unnecessary. That theatre received a five out of five stars for entertainment, I bet.”

Zayn chuckles, rolls his eyes and presses his ear flat against the door.

“Yeah, I think Niall ate the leftover popcorn, he uh,” Liam clears his throat. “That lad, you know.”

Zayn turns to Niall, mouth gaped open shockingly. “Wow, the elephant in that room is fucking huge.”

“What you mean?” Niall laughs.

“There’s so much tension over there, they’re just talking about you now.”

“Seriously?” The blond across Zayn stands up and strides over, fits himself in the space Zayn doesn’t take up to place his left ear against the wood. “What’re they saying?”

“...gone stale anyway,” Louis deadpans. The life in his voice died years ago.

“Yeah,” Liam stammers. “That lad, right. He’s, he’s a legend.”

“Okay,” Louis blankly replies, while Niall pouts and holds a hand over his heart.

“You know, he once made a girl squirt.”

Zayn’s eyebrows contort over his face, settles over something reasonable when he peers over and finds Niall staring into space, blue eyes bulging.

“Niall?” Zayn asks in confirmation, tongue poking out slightly.

“I don’t even know why he’d bring that up, what the _fuck_ , Li?”

“Aha, nice.” Zayn offers a closed fist, waits for Niall to bump his against it. “What? That’s sick, bro. Give me some.”

“No,” Niall giggles, his face disbelieving as he flicks Zayn’s hand away. “We’re not fist bumping to this.”

“And why not?” Zayn’s baffled, remembers afterwards to keep his voice low because of their current location.

“It was a one night stand.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t do one night stands, Zayn,” Niall gently laughs, rubbing his nose.

“Whoa.” Zayn goes over those words repeatedly in his head, breaks it apart as much as he can, but to no avail. He can’t say he agrees with Niall. “Why not?”

“Okay, now don’t laugh,” but Niall’s already laughing, looking away and growing the perpetual blush that leeches off his fair complexion. “But one of my mottos is ‘blow my mind, not my dick.’”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“I said don’t laugh,” Niall grumbles; it’s too late.

“Sorry,” Zayn wheezes, slapping his knee when he’s out of breath. “I can’t say I’ve heard of that one.”

“Shut up.”

“So you’re like. Into celibacy and all that?” Zayn manages to ask, calming down enough to converse.

“No.” Niall shakes his head roughly, adds a harsh shake of his finger to accompany his words. “No, never that. I’d just rather have that, ya know, emotional bond first, before the physical part comes in.”

“Like,” Zayn picks at the scab on his knuckle, feels every potential plan he had vanishing. “Like, love? You’ve been in love before?”

“Once.” Niall licks his lips, rests his elbows on his knees where they’re at eye level with him. “Some girl named Cindy, but she moved, so.”

“Do you miss her?” Zayn pulls his knees to his chest, drums a soft beat over the sides of his thighs.

“Not at all, see her all the fucking time,” Niall snickers. “She came back two years ago. Can’t stand her, but we’re friends.”

“That sounds—”

“Louis, come on. That’s not even true.”

Zayn and Niall nearly bang their temples when they glue themselves back to the door.

“Well, whatever,” Louis dismisses. Steps are heard, going in the other direction. “Drop it.”

“This is why you’re like this!” Liam calls after him. “You never talk it out, and this is why this happens.”

“This is why you’re single!”

. . . Zayn barely returns Niall’s expression, the blatant mortification stabbing every pale feature.

“What?” Liam crumbles. Zayn hates the way he feels himself breaking with Liam’s voice; fuck Liam. “Louis, what do you mean by that?”

“I’m lying, don’t pay me any mind,” Louis sniffs.

Zayn and Niall stay lodged against the door, look at each other more often than not. Zayn keeps forgetting they’re in his room, alone, for the first time. Because despite the argument brewing outside their vicinity, Zayn feels comfortable with Niall. Yes, he might want to sneak in a smooch here and there, might want to curl a finger through Niall’s hair and fold it behind his ear before tasting the wax on his lips. But other than that, Zayn doesn’t have stressful fits nagging at his skin, bothering him about Niall’s presence, taunting him with what ifs. He, surprisingly, _likes_ this.

Niall’s funny, and he doesn’t try to be as hilarious as he is. Now Zayn needs to add that to his growing list of Reasons To Consider A Niall Horan. He’s charming in a way that’s natural about him, with manners and morals and easy grins he _must_ know will make anyone's day.

He’s also really intelligent, because it’s been a while since Zayn’s maintained multiple fruitful discussions with someone else. He’s interested in Zayn; like, _really_ interested, and Zayn has a trusting hunch that Niall is only focused on him right now, that he wants _him_. Yet he doesn’t push himself into Zayn’s space.

He’s nothing like Jonah.

“Fine. We’re done,” Liam finalizes, bringing Zayn back to the moment, and away from Niall’s prying gaze and nudging sneaker.

“What the fuck do you mean we’re done, Liam?” Louis barks, but Zayn hears the tremor in his throat as much as he can picture Louis’ stunned face.

“We’re done, we’re over since you can’t speak to me like a boyfriend.” Louis doesn’t respond, Niall pulls his head away and looks at the door as if the wood offended him. Liam sighs, “Now please, as your friend, for the love of God, Lou, _talk_ to me. I fucking love you so just tell me already, dammit.”

Zayn retracts from his position slowly, stretches his body and winces at the cracks his bones emits. “Okay, not gonna lie, your best friend is smooth as fuck.”

“Your best friend is difficult,” Niall smirks. “Just like you.”

“Fuck off.” Zayn rolls his eyes, wonders if ordering food now is a good idea.

They end up ordering from a Hispanic diner Niall knows that delivers. And Zayn tries the best fried plantains he’s ever had the pleasure of eating.

Liam and Louis leave before the food arrives, Louis planning on making it up for Liam. Which could mean he’s taking him out on an extravagant date, or is going to Liam’s place and using every move in the bedroom known to mankind.

Zayn forcibly doesn’t care for either.

It’s just Niall and Zayn there, which is so weird. Only because nothing’s awkward at all. It’s all so normal, so _casual_. Zayn has to keep in mind he wants to jump into Niall’s pants in the very near future. That he shouldn’t feel so at ease with his potential lover, if Zayn plays his cards right.

They play a lot of Mario Kart on the GameCube since Zayn’s too lazy to bring the Wii from the living room to his room. Zayn beats every time—“I’ve been playing this for years, it’s okay, dude.” “Yeh, feck off.”—but Niall confidently trashes Zayn at Super Smash Bros.

“Hell no, you did not just—” Zayn’s Sheik blasts across the screen from Niall’s Pikachu’s attack, ending the three-kills battle. “Oh, fuck off.”

“It’s okay, _dude_ ,” Niall mocks, dabbing lightly at the buttons of his controller.

Zayn drops his on the floor, moves along his bed until he can look for his phone under the edge of it. “Shit, it’s almost eleven, you think they’d be back by now?”

“Shit, I have work in the morning.”

Niall hops off the bed swiftly, pulls his shoes on his feet carelessly and flops his snapback backwards atop his hair. Zayn’s guilty of messing with the little blond left in it for the past few hours; pinching it between his fingers, yanking it if Niall took his distraction and won the game, running his fingertips gently over his scalp. Niall didn’t mind at all, returned Zayn’s smile or bared his teeth childishly.

“And they’re not coming back here, babe,” Niall huffs, his mouth curving upward while shaking his head. “No way would Liam not keep him for the night.”

“Hmm. Yeah, you’re right.” The sudden empty space next to Zayn makes him fall back into it, taking up most of the bed. Fatigue’s pulling successfully at his eyelids. “Bummer.”

“You tired?”

Zayn shakes his head, the energy to speak lost on him. He’s not tired, he’s fucking drowsy.

“Right,” Niall chuckles. “I better be going. Night, Z.”

“I’ll walk you,” Zayn murmurs. He doesn’t make a move.

“I’ll walk meself.” Niall moves closer, puts a hand on Zayn’s knee to get his attention. “I had a good time, though. Thanks.”

“Always have a good time with you.” Zayn can’t tell if exhaustion is plucking the words from his mouth, or that was going to be his primary response. He doesn’t regret it, though.

Zayn closes his eyes for a second, only for a second. So he doesn’t see Niall moving over his body, the subtle handprints left over his sides until they frame his scruffy jaw line. But he feels it, Niall’s big shirt sliding over his stomach, warm skin pressed against his neck and chin and he just feels Niall getting closer. Feels Niall everywhere.

“You weren’t saying that in the beginning,” Niall says cautiously once Zayn opens his eyes.

He sounds cautious, Celtic voice edging over something careful. Precisely attempting to avoid the one misstep that could ruin. . .something, Zayn’s head is too jumbled to focus on one thing at a time.

Also his whole entire being is too disheveled to center on anything besides Niall at the moment.

“Didn’t like you in the beginning,” Zayn confirms.

Niall blinks, his steady hold on Zayn’s face going taut for a moment before he shudders and laughs, tilting Zayn’s chin up.

“You’re something else, I’ll say that to my dying day,” he whispers, kissing Zayn. Just once, just a firm press of lips that eggs Zayn into awareness for a split second. “Lay here, I’ll lock the door on me way out. Like you, Zaynie. Remember that.”

“Hate you too, babe.”

He doesn’t remember if Niall laughs after that, if he said goodbye or returned Zayn’s half-assed sentiment.

Zayn hadn’t completed anything that Saturday, yet spending time with Niall felt so productive.

___

_iii._

_I never should have told you_

_I never should have let you see inside_

_Don't want it troubling in your mind_

_Won't you let it be_

___

 

They don’t get “wasted” often, but Harry passed his courses exceptionally. So if there’s ever a time to bring out the cheap bottle of Triple Eight Vodka Louis stashes away, now is the time. They mix the liquor with orange juice, pass tall full glasses between the three of them until there’s only sparse drops of the clear alcohol left.

“M’telling you. _I_ am telling _you_ ,” Louis points an unsteady finger at Harry. “You are you, my friend. You can’t lie to the world, ever.”

Harry looks at him empathetically, sniffs and returns a shaky smile.

All three pairs of eyes are glassy, sweeping across the room dazedly, and they only reel back into the present to sing a shrieking version of _Dangerously In Love_ that’s been on repeat since they got home. They surprisingly don’t sound so bad, or Zayn is more drunk than he tipsily thought.

“You know, I was thinking the other day,” Harry belabors, holding onto the counter behind him. “I was with Liam before. And you’re with Liam _now_ ,” he says to Louis.

“Shut, up.” Louis gasps, slamming the cup back against the counter. “Oh my God, I _never_ thought of it that way.”

“I know, _I know_.” Harry nods briskly, playing with the skin of his lip.

Zayn knows they’re all drunk, Louis probably more so than the other two. So he isn’t entirely sure if Louis’ being sarcastic or not.

He can’t fret over it for long, though. Because Louis calls Liam to discuss this new realization and Harry has trouble turning the music down a notch. So Zayn busies himself with cleaning up the spilled mess, has trouble differentiating the actual sticky spots between the customized paintings imprinted into the surface.

Liam comes over a few minutes later, or maybe hours later. Zayn honestly can’t tell the difference, which should scare him, at least a little. But the only thing he’s worried about is going up to Liam and demanding where’s Niall.

They’re always together, like, _all_ the time. So Zayn’s just worried about their friendship. He wants to make sure Liam and Niall are still good friends, of course.

“Niall isn’t here,” he greets Liam, who already has a handful of Louis who’s wrapped around his neck, trying to pull him down for another toxic kiss.

“Um. Hi, Zayn,” Liam smiles. He’s still nice to Zayn, which suddenly makes Zayn sad. “And he’s at his house, why?”

“So he’s _not_ here?”

“I just realized that he’s _Niall_ ,” Harry butts in, looking between all of them chaoticly. “Why did it take me this long to notice?” Everyone looks at him, patiently waits for a follow-up that never comes.

“Okay, no more alcohol for you guys,” Liam says, looking around the mess Zayn still hasn’t picked up. “Where are the cans? Or the bottles?”

Louis tries to deflect Liam after that, which only ends up with Louis impersonating Obama while Liam has a hard time looking bothered with him.

Niall would’ve loved this, Zayn believes. The leftover beer in the fridge and all the Beyoncé albums on Harry’s iTunes account you could ever want.

It makes Zayn more sad, and he walks away quietly to take a cold shower. Only, he’s striving for dramatics at the moment, so he turns the nozzle until steam fills the bathroom in minutes and drops his lonesome façade after the fog ironically helps his head clear some.

When he steps out of the shower, not even a towel to grace his frame, Harry’s sitting on the closed toilet seat. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t fall,” he dopily grins, green eyes shiny with inebriation. He hands over a towel wordlessly, doesn’t react at Zayn’s naked body. Zayn’s still a little drunk so he slurs over thanking him before he puts on the pile of clothes Harry has on his lap.

Zayn has the bestest of friends. No one could convince him otherwise.

His home is a bit of a puzzle to go through, because he doesn’t remember a table holding up a lamp by the entrance of the living room, neither can he recall the red rug that lays under his feet. (He wonders if stepping around it would be better.)

Zayn doesn’t remember a body in the way of entering the kitchen. But alas, a big warmth of muscle is in his way, and Zayn ponders over what to do about that until Niall turns around, notices him for the first time.

“Zayn!” He’s happy, cheeks a darker shade of red with a bottle of Coors Light in his hand. “Hey you.”

“It’s you,” Zayn declares, stepping back once to avoid bumping into Niall again.

“Uh. Yeah, it’s me?” Niall chuckles. He doesn’t laugh for long, though.

Zayn takes the needed space between them to steer his balance, only takes a second before he’s holding Niall’s face in his hands and kissing him squarely on the mouth, for the first time with others around.

They haven’t made out since their first kiss, because whenever Zayn tries brewing something hotter between them Niall respectfully ends it, pecks Zayn once more before leaving or going back to what he was doing before. So Zayn takes the opportunity to press his lips a little rougher against Niall’s, tastes the cold beer on his lips and honestly likes it for the first time.

He pushes Niall against the wall, gently. Doesn’t realize the zero amount of space between them when he’s tasting inside Niall’s mouth, feeling straight teeth on the tip of his tongue, Niall’s timid tongue tensing under his.

“Hi, babe.” Zayn’s voice is even when he pulls back, a wobbly smile on display as he looks between blue eyes. “When did you get here? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Whoa,” Niall huffs, swallowing roughly. The thin-metal bottle in his hand is bending under his grip. “Zayn, are you okay?”

“I’m good now, thought you weren’t gonna come.” Niall has a thin layer of sweat on his neck, his chest shiny and splotching red as he breathes erratically. Zayn nuzzles his face in Niall’s neck, wonders why he never did such a worthwhile reachable thing before.

“You’re pissed?” Niall asks, concern laced heavily in his accent.

“What?” Zayn snorts. “I don’t—” he hiccups. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He unconsciously rubs his nose up Niall’s neck, moves to feel his jumping jaw under his lips.

“Jesus Christ. Harry? Harry, lad, get over here!”

Zayn hears Niall talking with Harry, hesitant words passed around. He only chuckles, wonders what could possibly be wrong. Snakes his hands around Niall’s waist to find tight skin. Wow, who knew hockey training could pay off.

Harry pries Zayn’s arms away slowly, moves until he has Zayn’s undivided attention. “Zayn?”

“I think _you_ are,” Zayn slurs, smirking confidently and fluttering his eyelashes.

“Z, I think Niall— Wait.” Harry looks between the two of them. “Zayn? _Zayn_ , this is _the_ Niall!”

“I. . . know?” Zayn knows that, right? “Or I don’t?” He shakes his head in explanation, but Harry doesn’t answer him.

“Remember, Zayn?” Harry does a horrible job at whispering. “Remember when Lou wanted you to get with a Niall?”

“Shut, that pretty mouth of yours. He just,” Zayn tries to shove Harry away, misses his shoulder by barely an inch. He wasn’t supposed to know. “You weren’t supposed to know,” he turns to Niall. “So, keep quiet. Shhh.”

“I,” Niall’s at a loss of words, looks to the ground for a second before nodding, no questions asked while he smiles surprisingly. “My mouth is sealed.”

Niall reaches out and grabs Zayn’s hand, walks away but keeps his eyes on the tan man following him.  
“Let’s sit you down, babe. You’re like, almost proper shitfaced.”

“No, I don’t think I am.”

“’Course you’d say that. Alrighty now.” The living room is empty, bar Liam’s phone, wallet, and keys on the coffee table and his sneakers carelessly thrown under them. “Take a seat, right here.”

Zayn’s back meets the cushions of his sofa, and with a sudden blink his head lolls back.

Niall’s sitting next to him, scrolling through his phone and picking at his lip. How did he get there so fast, he was just standing in front of Zayn.

“I’ve been sittin’ here for the past ten minutes, Zayn. You fell asleep.”

Oh. It explains the heavy blinks, then. Or that could be ‘cause Zayn still feels drunk. This is why he doesn’t drink a lot.

He groans, rubs his eyes to shy the fatigue away to only end up laying on his side, head pillowed from the armrest.

When he looks over, Niall’s back to his phone, now with his right arm thrown over his head. The bulge of his bicep stretches his sleeve around the area, hem of his shirt an inch above his stomach; Zayn glimpses a faint sliver of his happy trail. A trail Zayn happily wants to venture.

He doesn’t realize he’s moving closer, fisting Niall’s shirt until Niall’s looking over at him, eyebrow pursed in question.

“You’re not, like.” Zayn licks his lips, leave his tongue at the edge of his mouth until Niall sees. “You’re not my type, which is _so weird_.”

Niall isn’t Zayn’s type at all. Zayn likes them shorter than him. He likes them with a hefty amount of medicine in their glasses. He likes boys who are shy and slightly insecure with a sharp wit. He likes men who are into indie breakout artists and start their own trends instead of joining everyone else.

He liked Jonah, who was all of these things. Yet it spiraled out of control and despite popular belief, Zayn knows it wasn’t his fault; it was Jonah’s. Because it was only fun and games, it was always supposed to be fun and games. Only until Zayn was the only one still believing that.

Zayn hasn’t thought of Jonah in a long time, wonders if his gig at the university went well. Wonders if he’s dating. He really hopes and prays he is, and Zayn’s never been as honest as he is now. One of Zayn’s greatest high school friendships was ruined because they decided to take it a step further, out of curiosity, out of ignorance.

Zayn hates Jonah for it; knows in the depth of his being he hates himself more.

“Zayn?” Niall flicks his gaze between Zayn’s hazel eyes, more alert than before.

Niall’s not Zayn’s type, and maybe that’s good; maybe that’s what Zayn needs. This diversity.

Instead of answering, Zayn brings a hand up to caress Niall’s cheek, the smooth pale skin heating up under his palm. Niall still appears cautious, but he smiles softly under the touch, can’t keep down the worried line between his brows.

Zayn laughs, because this is the same fucking face he despised in the beginning of the year.

“I _hated_ you,” he slurs, kissing Niall’s nose. “Couldn’t stand you and your, hockey sticks and. Your attitudes. And your uniforms, _your_ _uniforms_ ,” Zayn moans, closing his eyes lethargically. “You were killing me, Niall.”

“You hated me?”

“You hated _me_?” Zayn diverts.

“I didn’t.” Niall shakes his head quickly, nudges Zayn’s hand during. “Never _hated_ you. Hated how pompous you all were. Spewing high maintenance and sticking yer chins in the air.” He licks his lips; they’re a natural pink tonight. “Couldn’t stay shut while you insulted my team, babe. Only doing me job.”

“Oh.” Zayn’s vision clears momentarily, and he finds Niall staring at him seriously, flecks of stubble covering his jaw line while his mouth relaxes in a line. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Like them with fire,” Niall purrs, baring his teeth playfully.

Beyoncé continues blaring, and Zayn knows this by Harry’s high-pitched voice coming from the kitchen singing the words. Other than that, it’s quiet. The music sounds muted where they’re at, so it’s really silent and Zayn only knows his heart is beating because he’s still here, still blinking and registering each of Niall’s features.

The freckles dotting his nose, the light hair over his top lip, dusts of green surrounding his pupil, yet the vast mass of blue his irises harbors. His skin is smooth, smoother than Zayn’s. No blemish on the skin besides the vague scar on his forehead, hiding under his fringe.

He doesn't know why, and he might never know, but Zayn takes a solid moment to smooth his finger pad lightly over the raised scar, the slight pink pucker of it. The caress makes Niall lean into the touch, molds a soft smile as he continues staring earnestly at Zayn.

“I almost lost my mind that night,” Zayn blurts. He doesn’t know why he isn’t making an effort to bite his tongue, can’t remember the last time being drunk ensued confessions. “Liam called me, from Lou’s phone, that you were at the hospital.”

“They overreacted,” Niall rolls his eyes, slumping further into the couch and moving his knees side to side. “I was fine.”

“I’d rather they overreact than have their behavior soon become rational.” Zayn doesn’t say he thought Niall’s head injury was something permanent; that he could’ve been brain dead. Or he could’ve lost his memory. “Don’t do that again.”

“I will try not to accidentally get hit again. Scout’s honor.” Niall makes a show of crossing his heart, lifting his hand and facing his palm outward.

Zayn tries to remember to be reasonable, to take baby steps. He tries to keep in mind that he hated Niall with a vengeance just a few months ago, that he couldn’t stomach his presence.

He tries to keep in mind that the fire blooming in him could fade at any second, any day without his control. He tries to remind himself to don’t indulge in relationships if there’s a high chance the outcome is fatal. Especially if it could affect the people around him.

Zayn doesn’t try to remember how great he feels around Niall, how he hasn’t had sex in months yet doesn’t crave that physical connection as much as he craves this right here, Niall sitting next to him. He doesn’t try to keep in mind that Niall’s way better than him, too good for him; that Niall could realize this any second, any day also. He doesn’t try to remind himself that Niall could break Zayn the same way Zayn broke Jonah, if not worse.

Zayn doesn’t try any of these because he already knows.

“I don’t think I talk about you enough,” Zayn says as evenly as he can muster. He knows he’s drunk, and he knows Niall knows this, too. But Zayn knows what he’s saying, and he knows being sober might’ve changed his actions, but not his thoughts.

His thumb rubs Niall’s bottom lip slowly, stays on the corner of his mouth as Niall thoroughly licks his bottom lip.

“I’m gonna change that,” Zayn nods.

“Huh,” Niall utters, too entranced to even think of breathing a word.

 

Zayn can’t feel his feet bringing him to his room, but he can see the living room disappearing behind him, the focal point of his door getting closer.

He turns around, lets his back meet the door and keeps his solid grip on Niall’s hand, moves back as he beckons Niall closer.

Despite the clothes on his back, the socks he’s wearing and the wind churning from the open window, the only thing Zayn feels is the steady hold Niall has on his waist. It maintains Zayn’s imbalance, keeps him stable enough that he can close the door with one hand and lead Niall towards the wall with the other.

“ _Don’t move_ ,” Zayn mumbles, but he can’t hear himself, knows his words are said since Niall leans pliant as he’s told.

Niall’s wearing a sleeveless jean jacket, unbuttoned as it hangs over a plain white t-shirt. Jeans the same denim as the jacket, red high tops on (sneakers Zayn would _never_ wear; how in the world does he like Niall so much).

“ _Are you okay?”_ Niall asks, genuinely worried, curiously intrigued. Zayn asks him the same thing, asks if Niall’s all right with what’s going on. “ _What **is** going on_?”

He looks on edge, as if he’ll flee if one miscalculation was to happen. Zayn takes a moment to tap Niall’s collarbone, just lightly until Niall suppresses a prisoned breath that rushes over him. Cascades sporadically but surely.

Zayn drops to his knees.

He hasn’t been in this position in a long time, ready to suck someone off for both of their sakes, eager for the upcoming ache in his knees that lets him know he’s giving it his all.

Niall isn’t wearing a belt, so Zayn lays his temple on Niall’s thigh and gets a feel of him first. Doesn’t have to stress over uncoordinated belt loops while his mind is still trying to piece itself together.

“ _Wh— Zayn?_ ”

Niall’s dick jumps under Zayn’s palm, a reflex he can’t control, probably isn’t even aware of.

“ _Okay, Zayn?_ ” Niall pushes at his shoulder gently, tries moving Zayn away and up on his feet.“ _Zayn, maybe you should— Like_ ,” Niall huffs, slowly shuts his eyes when Zayn repeats the action. “ _Stop and think for a moment, can we?_ ”

Zayn looks up slowly to find Niall staring down at him from the end of his nose. His mouth is parted, gusts of air seeping in through fistfuls.

“ _Why?Are you okay?_ ” Zayn asks, recalling Niall’s words.

“ _I, um. Yeah? I think—?_ ” Niall trembles as Zayn positions himself, back straightening as his hand grips Niall a little tighter; Zayn can feel where the head of Niall’s dick ends, pressing firmly against the heel of his palm.

Niall’s cock only presses stiffer the firmer Zayn shapes his hand around him. He’s quivering, jolting when Zayn fits his hand over the curve of his hip; and is practically _crumbling_ when Zayn buries his face in his crotch, stifling a light chuckle.

“ _You’re drunk_ ,” Niall blurts, gripping the sides of Zayn’s face to push him away softly. “ _Come on, up on your feet, babe. You don’t—_ ”

“ _I do_ ,” Zayn interrupts, nodding quickly while he holds onto Niall’s hips, opening his mouth slightly when he leans in, the curve of Niall’s dick barely a lick away.

“ _No_ ,” Niall shakes his head, leans his head instead of looking at Zayn. His hands are firm around Zayn’s bicep, squeezing lightly as they unsuccessfully pry Zayn away. “ _Not tonight, you’re drunk. Any other night, but not when you’re drunk_.”

“ _Niall_ ,” Zayn purrs, tucking his fingers in Niall’s pockets to pull them down a little, the movement causing Niall’s hips to move forward. “ _Niall_ ,” he stresses, waits until he’s looking down at him. Zayn’s drunk, yes, _“but I know what I’m doing_.”

Zayn wants this, wants Niall, incredibly so at the moment. He’s wanted him for months, really. He’s not going to lie to himself, and he won’t lie to Niall, either.

So he channels his gaze to focus on Niall, as much as he can; pauses his actions because he won’t go through if Niall says no again. But with a fright that dislodges Zayn’s breath momentarily, he doesn’t know what’ll happen if he doesn’t have Niall tonight. And he wants this, maybe needs it. But he won’t go ahead if Niall doesn’t want him as much.

So Niall looks away again, sighs and swallows the last refusal.

“ _You’re gonna be okay, yeah?_ ” Zayn murmurs, because Niall seems close to becoming a million pieces stapled to the wall as Zayn breathes over his dick., eyes never leaving Niall’s face. Who’s fighting between rolling his blue eyes back in his head or watching Zayn’s every move.

Zayn can’t say if he’s going to do a great job, since his mind is knotted up with sex and hormones and a lot of pale hands tightening around his skin; and the bit of alcohol simmering in his blood only makes him hotter, makes him flush when he unbuttons Niall’s pants, causes him to lick his lips as he pulls at the waist band of his underwear.

None of this should be as hot as it is, both literally and figuratively, but Zayn hasn’t slept with a guy in so, so long. And he’s reminded all over again why he likes the male specimen so much.

He doesn’t know who gives the breathy sigh when Zayn sneaks a hand to loosely grip the bare base of Niall’s dick, rubbing shallowly over the thick vein he finds under it with a thumb. It most likely must’ve been Niall because his stomach contracts and Zayn feels the sudden tautness where his fingers are splayed over his hip. Though Zayn’s so out of his fucking mind he could be voicing words and not notice a thing.

He’s so fucking uncoordinated it makes him disclose an abrupt chuckle, the tail end of it being sucked back as he finally leans in, gets a mouthful of dick that suppresses any further noise.

His mouth stretches tight around Niall, and he pulls back a second to wet his lips, swallows and breathes once more before forcing himself back in, taking extra and stressing the fixed width his lips perform to keep Niall in a euphoric pace that Zayn attempts.

Gears start kicking in Zayn’s brain. The weight of Niall on his tongue reminds him of his jaw; to open his mouth wider, invite Niall in as far as he can go. To fit Niall between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, the annoyance of teeth, Zayn recalls. He trails the spit he’s leaving behind to coat the inches he can’t reach, closes his hand as much as he can around Niall to pump him evenly, focuses on spewing enough precome by passing his lips over Niall’s tip each time he tugs back.

Zayn takes a moment to give Niall a nice, slow suction, goes further until he’s close to gagging before drawing back, tongue doing wonders on the underside as his lips drag heavily around him, making a purposeful mess with enough spit that Zayn feels it down his chin.

He does this again, repeats the same motion with a hand following his mouth’s movement, and momentarily hears an erratic curse above him. When he pulls back slightly, keeps the head of his dick right behind his mouth as he plays with the slit, he looks up at Niall.

Niall’s eyes are closed, eyelids fluttering each time Zayn sucks a bit tighter. Zayn toys with him, experiments what action pulls what reaction from the blond shaking in front of him.

Zayn runs a tight fist up and down his dick and Niall’s hands fidget, pressed to the wall by his sides as his fingertips drum on the surface chaotically.

Zayn lathers the head with the tip of his tongue, witnesses a pink mouth going slack, jaw jumping with sharp exhales.

Zayn dares his hand further, wet fingertips tracing Niall’s balls; the back of Niall’s head meets the wall painfully, eyes clenched shut and Zayn gets off right before the first spurt of come dribbles down his hand.

He pumps Niall through it, rests his forehead on his hip while he blinks away the remaining tears and steadies his breathing. Niall gives a final jolt in Zayn’s hand, comes down the front of his shirt before sagging against the wall, swearing miserably.

Zayn stays put, tests the soreness the back of his throat inhabits, feels wobbly when he moves his knees where they’re still planted on the floor. He blinks, and then feels hands gripping the top of his arms and slowly steadying him on his feet.

Niall keeps his hands where there are, squeezes Zayn’s biceps once until Zayn’s looking at him with as much certainty he can hold.

“ _C’mere_ ,” Zayn says, because he’s not done. Niall comes into intense focus for a moment, and Zayn vividly sees the quivering concern etched over the pale face, the lips bitten raw, probably as wrecked as Zayn’s own mouth feels.

Niall holds his ground, takes in each individual feature on Zayn’s face and Zayn wants a bit more, wants a bit more of Niall if he can.

“ _Come here_ ,” Zayn demands, shaking off Niall’s hands to tug him closer.

He gets the angle wrong the first time, their top lips sliding against each other before Niall’s pulling him towards him, shoving into Zayn’s space and kissing him properly. There’s stubble interfering with Zayn’s, and a tongue prods inside his mouth while it takes him the time to reach under Niall’s shirt, pull on the back of it with his other hand.

Zayn thinks this was the ‘more’ he was seeking; just Niall’s mouth molding with his and greedy hands dragging over his skin, pulling at his ass and roughly hefting him up, supporting his unbalanced body and encouraging the sloppy mess their mouths are creating.

It slows down when Zayn’s back hits the bed, pink lips moving slower with his and a heavy body lifting itself away.

“ _Wait_ —” Zayn sits up quickly and nearly head butts Niall who backs away slightly. “ _Wait, what?_ ” Hands frame Niall’s face, tan thumb smoothing over his chin. His blue eyes read finality, Zayn instantly knows, in the depths of his mind that isn’t consumed with fog. Zayn shakes his head, runs the same thumb over Niall’s bottom lip. It makes him bite his own, battles the fatigue pulling at his eyelids and coyly smiles when he leans in to bite Niall’s. “ _No, come **here**_.”

Zayn’s mind escapes him every few seconds. So he snags a sliver of pale skin one moment, feels his shirt being pulled from his frame in the next. Rough hands pull at his pants, and Zayn clumsily follows the action to get them off, but he's useless, only dissolves into giggles as Niall finishes the task on his own.

Legs tangle with his, suddenly bare skin colliding and Zayn knows the mouth kissing down his neck, the rough fingertips strumming silent chords down his abdomen. He catches glimpses of blond hair in his view, head tucked into his chest, Niall’s eyes drinking in every response he pulls from the tan body writhing under him.

This is it, this is what Zayn wanted. Niall’s undivided attention absorbing every inch of skin that’s laid out. He’s barely touched Zayn’s dick and he feels ready to climax through every pore he has.

Zayn moves, shuffles around, keeps Niall focused on him with opening his mouth and sliding his tongue over his. He gets lost with the thrill of it, comes back to reality when he pulls his arm back from the drawer and holds a condom and a tube in his hand.

He sees when Niall notices, the flair that scorches his face instantly, blue eyes bulging and Zayn could see that expression a thousand times over and might still feel the tremor in his ribcage, the rattle his heart emits in his chest.

“ _Look at me_ ,” he purrs, pressing the condom into Niall’s hand. He keeps the lube with him, wants to ready himself as quickly as possible. So he dribbles enough across his fingers, hitches his leg up at the same time as Niall’s inhale.

It could be that he’s drunk enough that he doesn’t feel a lot of pain, the intrusion causing his eyebrows to wrinkle with uncertainty if he’s even doing it right. But he crooks his finger, buries his face in Niall’s neck and doesn’t stop. Not when he kisses up Niall’s jaw to keep him on the edge also, not when he goes two fingers and misses the wave it was supposed to bring. Not when Niall moves an arm around his back, presses them together and sneaks his other hand down Zayn’s body to curve over his ass and tap at Zayn’s wrist.

“ _You okay_?” he mouths, because Zayn stays deaf. So he nods, plays with his rim a little more to coach a reaction out of him. “ _You got this_?” Niall asks again, gently running a finger over Zayn’s slick knuckles.

Zayn sends a small nod, parts his lips while adding a third finger because a distant burn is accompanied. And though it was sought out Zayn still takes a moment to anchor himself, prepares for the oncoming trudge this part brings.

Instead Niall pulls Zayn’s hand away, slowly pulls his fingers out and pushes Zayn onto his back to hover over him.

“ _Come on, not so reckless_ ,” Niall scolds, but with a hand cupping Zayn’s ass cheek he worriedly looks over his face, gauges for the smallest defiance.

“ _I got this_.” Zayn _does_ , so Niall shouldn’t take it upon himself to finish what Zayn started. He’s a bit loose, rim puffing when Niall rubs more slick over the area and sinks his own finger into him. “ _I’m ready_.”

“ _You’re not, babe._ ” Niall takes his time, rivals Zayn’s pitiful job at preparing himself. He kisses Zayn’s knee and leans down a bit to kiss the meat of his thigh, leaves his mouth there each time he wrenches a breathless whine from Zayn’s fucking _being_.

His strokes are precise, like he knows what he’s doing.

Zayn can’t blame just his inebriation anymore for his state of mind.

Niall knows when he meets Zayn’s prostate, because his body flinches and coils into himself, a stressed keen leaving his throat. So he keeps his finger pad there, caresses as much as he can and observes the way Zayn _trembles_ , dick slapping helplessly over his belly button.

Niall forgets this isn’t for himself for that second. He quickens his pace, feels like he’s chasing his own orgasm each time Zayn stiffens under him and he’s breathing loudly, forgetting the squelch his tense hand makes and it’s only when Zayn manually stops his move does he pause.

It takes no time to put the condom on, spread the slick on his hand over himself, give a few selfish pulls to keep his climax at bay.

It takes forever for Zayn. And he opens his mouth to harshly hurry Niall up when he’s already there, gripping the back of his thigh up and to the side and pressing inside him, sliding in tenderly.

Zayn doesn’t remember when they’ve established this was going to be ‘soft’, or ‘slow.’ Because it’s _not_ going to be. But it takes a few gestures and reckless whines for Niall to catch up, to pull Zayn’s body roughly towards him and bring himself closer just as so.

 _This_ is what Zayn wanted. This was what he had sought for so long it makes him speechless for it, lolling his head to the side to mouth at his pillow, clench his body up painfully when Niall jabs _really_ fucking close to home.

He knows he isn’t going to last long the third consecutive time Niall leaves the tip of his dick rammed over his prostate, keeping the strokes deliberate and long when he shoves back in, rim squeezed around his base achingly.

Zayn sobs, just once. Just enough that he hears it loud and clear. Enough that Niall pauses midthrust.

Zayn’s yanked up, hovering over Niall’s lap where his hands are holding him up. Niall sits back on his heels, lets Zayn sink down onto him in his own pace.

“ _This is better?_ ” Niall genuinely asks, veins in his neck bulging when Zayn clenches around him. “ _Is this fine?_ ”

Zayn swallows, tenses his jaw with the immense fullness he feels, Niall buried to the hilt. He can’t ride Niall properly in this position, with his legs laid carelessly around Niall. But he rolls his hips once, moans when his dick slides along Niall’s tight stomach.

Niall lets him pilot, just grips his ass each time his dick tugs at the sore rim and bites his inked shoulder for something to fucking do.

Zayn has a sudden raunchy thought of Niall choking him, of _begging_ Niall to choke him and him obliging immediately.

He quickens his pace, thinks of pale fingers pulling his hair, pulling his head back roughly.

Zayn throws his head back filthily, pictures himself whining while his dick swings pitifully between his legs, a face between his ass, tongue unrelenting.

He bites his tongue when he comes, shatters and ignores the cry in his legs asking him to stop. Just rotates his ass till his body milks the rest out of him.

Niall might’ve come, Zayn’s sure he did. Because he knows Niall wouldn’t let him fall back on the bed until he came the second time.

But Zayn lays on his back, huffs in uneven gasps of air.

“ _That was better_ ,” he says to Niall. Zayn has a grip somewhere over his pale wrist, but the room’s suddenly really dark and Niall’s not so up close that Zayn can pinpoint where the blue in his eyes start and the green begins. “ _You’re so much better_ ,” he nods, hopes Niall knows what he’s trying to say because Zayn’s having a hard time figuring it out, himself.

Zayn stays on his back, watches Niall move around momentarily before closing his eyes to gather his thoughts together.

 

The early morning sun is pounding, scorching through his eyelids and roasting what’s left of his brain.

Zayn groans when he rolls his head away from the light, groans _again_ when groaning and fussing about causes pain to erupt in his cranium all the way down to his brain stem. He’s wasted.

He’s a _waste_ , more like. Good for nothing expect lying pitifully in the ruins of his anatomy. This is not a good way to go, he reasons.

It takes ten minutes to summon the courage of opening his eyes again, which guarantees nothing but extra optical distress and a faint throb between his eyebrows.

He moves his arms next to pull the blanket over his head, holds off the persistent sunlight that’s annoying the fuck out of Zayn. But this enables him to smell the scent of spunk trapped under his quilt; which, gross.

Shards of his dream trickle in little by little. And what Zayn initially presumed to be a wet dream is suddenly somersaulting into high clarity too fast for him to keep up with.

The quilt’s thrown to the side as Zayn sits up straight, winces when his brain feels like it’s floating aimlessly and rocking against his skull. He’s still uncoordinated, but a quick look around the room informs him he’s alone. Yet a strange sense of familiarity makes him feel like he was very very _not_ alone just hours ago, in this room, in this fucking bed.

Zayn sighs to pass air through his body because he doesn’t want to go back to sleep, and he needs to be conscious to work through the thoughts flying in his head. It’s just noon, he checks when he unlocks his phone, a picture of the Andromeda galaxy gracing his vision. It’s just a photo, a typical picture of one of the most common quoted galaxies, but it oddly calms Zayn a bit, steadies what’s left of his turmoil while he charts the trillion stars laid across it.

The calm only lasts long enough for him to operate and put on clothes. He doesn’t fret over his naked body, purposely doesn’t recall the fact he always sleeps with at least underwear. He doesn’t think of anything because the only thing he _can_ think of is Niall’s body over his. A nice body, overall, if it really happened. But still, Zayn’s losing his mind and he’s barely awake to process everything with a grain of salt.

He pokes his head out of his doorway and tiptoes towards the kitchen when the coast is clear. The living room is empty, Niall’s not here. So. . .it _didn’t_ happen? It was a dream, it must’ve been.

But Zayn pours himself cereal, remains unwavering when parts of his body are sore, eats casually when his throat aches each time he swallows, endures the internal stress when his mind vividly plays the scene without his consent.

Whatever the fuck it was, Zayn cannot lie that Niall wasn’t good at it. But of course, come on. What did he expect? Is there anything Niall isn’t good at? Well, besides exceptional taste in sports, that is. But Zayn’s being an adult, or is trying to be. So he’ll look over that. No problem there; the problem’s the fact Zayn really really believes he slept with the guy he really really likes and it’s going to become a really really big problem.

“Good morning, my beautiful knight,” Louis greets, kissing the top of Zayn’s head.

It causes him to jolt, cut in the middle of struggling through an explanation of last night/his dream.

He’s hoping it’s a dream more than anything, but it’s one of those cases where he knows he’s not going to get what he wants, no matter how much he begs.

Begging, oh dear.

“…which was really funny, because you know my lifelong friend, Luke? The cute, tan piece of ass—” Louis drolls, pouring milk into his mug.

“Hm,” Zayn interrupts, twirling the few bits of sugary flakes in his bowl.

“Well, yeah, Li met him last night. Supposedly I invited him, do you remember that?”

“Hm.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” Louis sighs. “I think he got jealous ‘bout it. I mean, it’s reasonable, because duh, _Luke._ But dunno, Li’s just a worrywart.”

“Hm.”

Louis doesn’t question Zayn’s behavior, which could be since Zayn’s usually unresponsive so early in the day. They both work with the silence, and Louis brings over his tea and a pouch of pop tarts and sits across Zayn, splays his legs carelessly under the table.

“So,” he says around a bite of food, “you had fun last night? Think Gem picked up Haz, to be honest. Woke up with some weird texts from him that I think read he got home safely.”

“Hm.” Zayn’s trying to find a way to bring this up casually.

Louis just laughs, points a knowing finger at Zayn before diving into the quietness again.

When Louis finishes half of his drink and is picking on what’s left of his pastry, Zayn clears his throat.

“Have you,” he starts before he begins to fidget in his seat, drumming his fingers on the porcelain bowl between his hands. “Did Niall come over last night?”

“Sure did,” Louis yawns while unlocking his iPad, loading the news app. “Drank the last of our beer, which is hypocritical of him since he’s always saying we buy _t’e weak shite_ ,” Louis impersonates his accent, using air quotes with one hand.

“Did he, um,” _fuck me last night?_ “What time did he go home?”

“Not sure,” Louis says, a question mark hooking onto his tone when he looks over at Zayn. “Do you want me to find out or something?”

“Please,” Zayn nods. “Yeah. That’ll be. Cool. That’ll be cool.”

It takes some time when Niall doesn’t reply to Louis’ text after the first few minutes; which Zayn tries not to read too much into, because Niall’s always up by at least eleven in the morning and he stays glued to his phone for most of the day. Louis resorts to texting Liam, who replies barely two minutes later.

“He went home early, before Liam and Harry left. Why?”

“No reason,” Zayn shrugs.

Louis narrows his eyes, tucks his bottom lip into his mouth. Zayn falters first.

“I think we had sex last night,” he blurts, looking down at the table to reign in some lost composure. “I _really_ think Niall and I fucked in my room last night.”

“Holy shit.” Louis gapes his mouth. “Hold on. Wait. Okay, wait one second. Let me get this straight….” Louis continues. He holds up a finger while processing the information in his head again. “Okay, one moment, Zayn.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So you just,” Louis rotates his hands, puffs his mouth while he thinks of his words. “You think he just. . . are you _really_ sure that happened?”

“I thought it was a dream at first, but I feel too,” Zayn licks his lips and pushes his plate away. He feels queasy suddenly. “I _feel_ like it happened. I _feel_ , you know?”

“Could be a dream?” Louis shrugs, raising a corner of his mouth. “Niall wouldn’t just up and leave the next morning. Much less leave right after.”

“I’m sore,” Zayn admits when he forces himself to stare back at Louis. “Like. I’m _sore_.”

“You did complain about practicing too much with Pez in the afternoon, babe.”

Zayn, didn’t think of that. But it makes a bit more sense of things. Though overall he believes with 79% of his heart that he and Niall got down and dirty the night before.

He’ll find out eventually, no worries.

 

He doesn’t find out eventually.

He doesn’t return Niall’s texts the first day, because each time his phone pings with a message and he looks over to see the queen and muscle emojis placed next to the blond’s name, Zayn has a quick urge to flip his phone away, bury it somewhere he won’t see. Out of sight, out of mind.

He doesn’t return Niall’s phone call the Friday after that. Niall calls again, hours later, and Zayn sits there ready to return the favor, has a plausible excuse sitting on his tongue. But he never manages to grab the phone. And once he starts regretting the lost time, it’s already late and his thoughts dissipate with the potent nerves.

Zayn’s lucky the library opens up again, and a few coworkers who worked before don’t return so he’s left to pick up more shifts. Spends late mornings and dark evenings putting hardbacks on shelves and renewing library cards.

He rereads many of his favorite books, rewatches his favorite cartoons and movies; and maybe it’s a ploy to stay away from his home more often than not but he catches up with many things. So by the time it’s itching eleven at night and the apartment is dead under his feet he can’t find a reason to care anyway.

Time passes slowly, and it’s nearing four weeks that Zayn hasn’t breathed a word, nor typed a text to Niall. But no one’s hovering around like he’s a broken soul. He’s not. He’s a little confused, a bit more enamored, and a lot unprepared.

All he can do is keep himself busy, ‘cause if not he wonders if he’s doing the right thing by distancing himself from Niall, breaking their blooming bond little by little. Because when he overthinks he comes to the conclusion that what he did was horrible, that he only led Niall on the whole time, that maybe the same thing with Jonah is happening all over again.

So Zayn keeps himself busy.

He works at the library and enjoys it more each day. He skates often with Perrie, even visits the local rink and doesn’t mind the surplus of children and parents on the ice with them. He skates by himself too, blasts a customized playlist from his phone and keeps his feet on the ice the whole time. There’s no reason to show off when he’s alone.

He goes to see Yaser some time in the end of June. His father texted him one morning and Zayn found himself on his front door the following.

Trisha didn’t expect his visit, was lazing on the sofa while Safaa painted her toes, a Tom Hanks film playing on the television.

“Oh my _God_ ,” she gasps while pushing away from the couch, Safaa’s nail brush causing a swipe of blue to coat her heel. “My son, it’s you. Oh, Zayn, come here.”

“It’s okay, mom,” Zayn chides, because Trisha’s pulling him down for the tightest hug and he doesn’t know if she’s about to cry and laugh manically. “It’s good to see you too.”

“How’s my little superstar doing on his own? Are you eating well? You’ve gotten skinny. Are you still sad about Jonah?”

“Mom,” Zayn deadpans. He only gives her a look. They don’t talk about that, and Zayn’s way over it.

Trisha scolds herself, nods and leads Zayn to the kitchen.

They make an early dinner together while Yaser grills burgers on the grill in their yard, a loud whistle that stays with Zayn who makes fun of Waliyha in the dining room; she has black bangs in her face and purposely leaves her scruffy shoelaces untied.

Doniya moved out just the year prior, so Zayn doesn’t see her but promises— _really promises_ —to stop by the next time she’s over.

Dinner’s eventful, and Zayn forgot how much of a slob Safaa is and he recalls the names of Waliyha’s elementary friends as she talks about them, a few new getting added to the bunch. His mom still possesses the role of reminding them to pray before eating, and Zayn eats more than his fair share as usual.

Yaser sits quietly, always holding a silent frame that takes up a lot of the room’s atmosphere so he doesn’t go forgotten. He helps Trisha clean the table as Zayn watches his youngest sister sit still while Liyha rebraids her ponytail.

Zayn sits and doesn’t breathe a word for the meantime but he doesn’t feel left out of anything. He feels at _home_ , in the simplest way put.

He banters with his siblings and threatens taking Safaa’s room again before his father comes back in the room. Trisha enters, pats the girls’ heads once and they follow her to the living room where the History channel is playing an Aztec documentary.

“Everything okay, son?” Yaser asks, handing Zayn his own cold beer. Zayn accepts the offer but keeps the bottle untouched.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Got a competition next Sunday. Skating with this girl named Perrie and we’re excited about it.”

“You told me about that, yeah. Am I able to go?”

“Can’t.” Zayn frowns. “It’s really _her_ competiton so she booked her seats before I was even her partner. I’ll ask Kareem to videotape it, though.”

“Please do. Miss your performances.” Yaser gives a small smile before leaning his elbows on the table, sighing loudly. “Now, tell me what’s wrong, Zayn.”

“What? Nothing’s wrong.” That’s a lie, obviously. But Zayn didn’t come over here with the intentions of spilling the ungodly ‘deets’ of his horrid affair. It’s still on his mind, and he thinks of it too often for it to be healthy. But it’s his problem and he’ll get through it somehow. He’s been going through it already.

Yaser just sighs again, gracious smile still intact. “The last time you visited unannounced was because Jonah was trying to go back out with you for the third time and you worried about everyone else calling you an asshole for declining. The time before that was for debating on entering the Olympics or not. You’re not subtle, Zayn. And Louis might’ve mentioned you’re having boy trouble?”

“That— jerk,” Zayn quickly fixes, punching the table lightly. “And _no_ , I _don’t_ have boy trouble,” he denies.

“Is this the boy you once texted me about? That you liked him but didn’t want to?”

“The very same one.”

“Well thank God I love you so much, son. Are you gonna tell me about him now?”

Zayn does. And he brings up their hatred in the beginning, their reluctant gatherings because of awful best friends. He mentions the gigs at Harry’s job, when they first skated. Zayn gushes over Niall and _blushes_ the whole way through. He explains the way Niall is to everyone, the way he’s a bit different with Zayn. He speaks about Niall’s blatant and reserved interest in him, how the blond couldn’t hurt a soul if he wanted to; much less Zayn (“or so he says,” Zayn rolls his eyes, just to be on the safe side). Zayn admits his feelings, vaguely mentions a dream he’s still ruffled about and clearly tells his father of the radio silence that’s rang for the last month.

Yaser listens fully, nods appropriately at times and chuckles when the story calls for it. He rubs his mouth, switches his stare between the table and Zayn and doesn’t interrupt at all.

“I want to meet this fellow,” he breaks the silence, after Zayn breathed the last word and waited with a jitter in his knee for his father to respond.

“Oh, you won’t. You’re not gonna like him, trust me.” That was another reason for Zayn’s hesitance. A part of him faithfully knew Niall’s sudden brashness and occasional forwardness wouldn’t be welcomed by his father; he couldn’t risk that.

“Well, he seems to really care for my son, and looks like he doesn’t mean harm. What’s not to like?”

Zayn snorts. “Nah, pop. I messed up with him. You know how I am with dating, anyway.”

“I know how you are when you try,” he counters. “More than half the time you were with Jonah was because you kept your foot in. Despite the fact you lost feelings you continued trying for his sake. And when you two broke up, and he was heartbroken and everyone pointed fingers at you, you stuck around for his sake, still. Hell, you even tried rekindling your relationship in your senior year, Z.”

“It backfired.”

“You tried, and you never _ever_ meant to hurt him. But yes, you did hurt him, Z.”

Zayn diverts his gaze. There’s a Venus flytrap on the windowsill, mouth gaped open. He honestly wonders if he could be swallowed by it to escape this moment.

“And you tried to help with his broken pieces. You can’t excuse what you did but you have no reason to feel guilty when you were honest all throughout.”

“I stopped by to have a good time and you’re attacking me, pop.”

“Oh, not this again,” Yaser laughs, brushing a kind hand through the air.

Zayn takes advantage of the tender moment. “I think I like this arrangement, anyway. I don’t think I’m ready to be in a relationship. And I don’t want to hurt someone else.”

“You can’t deny yourself of things either, Zayn. You’re young. Go date, be nice and talk to him, don’t play childish games. Have sex with him _this_ time, ‘cause you didn’t the first time.”

“Pop!”

“You’re aware of yourself, Zayn,” Yaser sighs when he leans his chin on his hand. “You’re the most conscious person I know. You wouldn’t have slept with him when under the influence. Much less would you have pondered over if it happened or not.”

“I can’t tell you what to do, but you’re gonna see him again, Z. Whether because of Louis and Liam or because of the ice rink or because of your friends picking up on your avoidance. But don’t make the same mistake again. Say sorry. Tell him what you want, whether a relationship or this new agreement of separation. Don’t expect him to agree with anything you say. Don’t expect him to disagree. Talking to him will benefit you as much as him.”

“Can I just, like. Ask you to call his dad and you two can speak?”

Yaser laughs loudly, a rumble in his throat when he slaps the table twice. “I miss having you around, son. Please stop by again soon.”

“Will do, pop.”

“Know what? Don’t talk to Niall at all. The prolong silence between you two will have you stopping by again in two weeks. No doubt.”

“Know what? I’ll talk to him, then. Since you have little faith in me.”

“That was the plan.” Yaser winks, gives Zayn a thumbs up that reassures Zayn almost as much as his words.

 

Zayn calls Niall the second he gets out of the cab. The phone rings, and Zayn doesn’t have nothing in mind to say besides greeting with a _Hey you_.

Niall doesn’t pick up the phone, which bums Zayn out surprisingly. But he goes inside his empty apartment and grabs his skates by the door, packs them in his bag and practically jogs on his way out.

**When you’re not busy, can you meet up with me at the rink. We gotta talk, yeah? :)**

It’s still open to the public for another hour, but Zayn’s too riled up to care about the multiple hazards he throws himself into while he idly skates in a loose circle.

Simon gives Zayn the keys to close the place two hours later; after the man tidies up the building and Niall still doesn’t arrive.

Zayn can’t ignore the bitter fire in his chest that’s slowly dying, barely any flicker to lighten anything else. But he stays and he listens to Phosphorescent to occupy himself, to avoid giving up on the blocked words he finally summoned in his throat.

Another hour passes, with no reply. And Zayn gets a little ticked. Unreasonably so, he knows. He _knows_. But still. He hates waiting.

He sits himself on the bleachers for a short break, doesn’t want to tire quickly when Niall arrives. But he scrolls through Instagram, likes a few pictures he comes across until stopping at one photo.

It’s from Niall, obviously, because his username is right there, read clearly. A picture he loaded just under an hour ago.

 _#sundays #football #food._ Zayn reads the caption, again and again. The picture is of just a flat screen television broadcasting a scene from a soccer game. That’s all there is to it.

Zayn takes the silence that chimes gradually. All before it’s rushing through his ears and he’s refreshing his messages just _one_ more time. _Just_ to make sure again.

Okay. Zayn can convince himself Niall isn’t on his cell phone, he hasn’t been on his phone for the last five hours. Niall hasn’t read his text at all, Zayn knows. He can tell himself the message never went through.

Zayn can’t tell himself that he hasn’t wasted the later part of his day on nothing; didn’t hyperventilate repeatedly over what to say as he lost his train of thought to the ice under his feet.

Zayn can’t convince himself he isn’t humiliated, either. He can’t say his skin is suddenly shivering because the cold is trickling under his skin. It has nothing to do with that, honestly.

This is the part he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how to handle this stage of embarrassment, of mortification. He can only act like nothing happened, because.

Well, because nothing _did_ happen. Niall’s relaxing, Zayn’s untying his skates and is wiping the blades dry with a tremble in his throat, and nothing happened.

He walks home to the soundtrack of the streets, cars driving by and the occasional honk. Zayn puts his hood on, has a burdened thought that maybe everyone knows what happened. Maybe everyone knows he waited for a boy who doesn’t want anything to do with him, and it’s Zayn’s fault; of course.

Every pedestrian passing by Zayn is simply enjoying the show, applauding at Zayn’s worthwhile show. He only feels ridiculed.

Naturally, on the night Zayn really _desperately_ wants to be alone is the night Louis’ there earlier than usual. Not only that, but he’s adorned in his best pair of pj’s and Liam is sitting next to him on the sofa, dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweats with an arm linked with Louis’ where they rest in between them.

“Hello, dear!” Harry beams, waving a hand. He’s sat on the floor next to Liam’s knee; and Zayn’s ashamed he helplessly looks around the room in case an extra face appears. “You’re back late.”

“Yeah? Um. Yeah, I know.” He forgets to take off his sneakers by the door as he makes his way to the kitchen. His goal is to drink a glass with water, but after it’s filled and placed in his hand he sits it on the counter for a long time. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t engage in the laughter he hears in the room behind him. Doesn’t know how to command his hand to work and bring the cup over to his mouth.

He abandons the task, saunters into the living room on his way to the room when Liam catches his eye.

Zayn’s instinct is to narrow his gaze or roll his eyes when he knows he has Liam’s full attention. But, he instead looks at him evenly and waits for him to turn away.

Liam doesn’t turn away, he leans his head to the side slightly, nods the tiniest nudge and Zayn diverts his vision, only to end up on Liam’s and Louis’ entwined hands.

Zayn doesn’t know why he instantly feels like an organ in his chest abruptly dropped. As if the shackles around it broke and now it’s plummeting deep into his being, unreachable.

He is suddenly, incredibly, not okay; and it takes strenuous effort and a lot of focusing on the blank wall across his bed to shy the tears in the corners of his eyes away.

He’s just, fucking _humiliated_. And more than that, more than he’s willing to admit as he lays down and fights off any exhaustion because he’s too wired to sleep, more than denial telling him _Niall isn’t deliberately avoiding you_ , Zayn cannot believe it took this miniscule gesture for him to severely realize what Niall’s capable of doing to him.

It never dawned on Zayn that Niall will ignore him too.

___

_iv._

_I never understood what was at stake_

_I never thought your love was worth its wait_

_Well now you've come and gone_

_I finally worked it out_

_I worked it out_

___

 

The competition is a week away, so it’s reasonable that Zayn carelessly hurls himself into practice.

It's _so_ reasonable that Perrie doesn't question his harsh criticism, doesn't ponder over whether the death spiral should be performed as stiff as Zayn's making it to be. She bites her tongue when Zayn scolds her for her loose stance, her jump that didn't maintain as much momentum as the song suggests. She simply nods and pays closer attention and Zayn ignores the weary expressions.

He thinks nothing of her questioning gazes and her wrinkled brows that huddle together in thought when Zayn maybe screams a bit too loud, a bit unnecessary. He turns away when she begins to look pleadingly at him, as if attempting gauging a view of Zayn's mind that he's kept locked away since Sunday night.

He would be lying if he said the upcoming skating event was taking a toll on his nerves, was causing uncharted sweats or grinding against his sanity. If anything, it's the opposite. He desires this distraction, this time to dive completely into something that doesn't require mental labor at all. _At all._

Zayn can skate along to PCH without having to memorize when he's supposed to lift Perrie, where they mirror each other on the ice. He doesn't have to keep in mind to hold the exertion in his thighs and calves instead of his lower back. He doesn't have to remember _anything_ because it all comes naturally to him;  And maybe he has Niall to thank for that since he's never felt like he had to prove himself so much until Niall came along and left just as easily.

Then again, Zayn left him first. And--

No. He didn't _leave_ him. They were never together, anyway. Leaving him would've been impossible. Zayn doesn’t owe him anything, okay? Zayn didn’t do anything wrong. Though, he does have a laden thought that his father will be wholly disappointed in him if he found out Zayn still hasn’t talked to Niall.

But, like. Zayn tried. He _tried_. He called, and he texted. Fuck the extra effort, but if Zayn has to humiliate himself more, no thanks. Niall’s not worth it.

(He completely is, which causes Zayn to reluctantly accept this separation of sorts more than he likes.)

It’s Thursday, a bit after one in the afternoon. Zayn stays where he is on the bed, a tumblr window open on his laptop that’s abandoned behind him, screen gone black some time around four in the morning.

He’s playing with a toy car, probably something Brooklyn gave him as a tiny present. Flicking the wheel each time it stops spinning, a knock comes to his door.

“M’watching porn, now’s not a good time,” he hollers.

“You haven’t watched porn in years,” Louis replies, opening the door to lean on it. “Lucky Harry isn’t here. He’d be disappointed in you.”

Zayn shrugs. “He knows I don’t watch it, anyway.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Louis strolls over slowly, as if he expects Zayn to kick him out. By the time he’s sitting on the edge of the bed Zayn’s placed the toy on his nightstand and is staring at Louis; a blanket’s over his frame to his nose, protecting him from whatever and all Louis’ going to tell him.

“You’ve been sleeping in a lot lately, babe,” Louis murmurs while he pets Zayn’s arm that’s under the comforter. “More than usual.”

Zayn sits up and bunches the fleece in his lap, back against the headboard. “Have no reason for getting up early now, so.”

“You haven’t even watched The Real this morning, love,” Louis looks over to the television, then to the remote control on the floor next to the bed. “Putting it on doesn’t require getting up at all.”

Zayn hums and stares at his lap. He nods after a while, because Louis stays silent and Zayn actually doesn’t want to talk; at least not about what’s coming.

“Harry’s worried,” Louis whispers. “So am I, obviously. Even Liam, too. And, you know. Well.”

“Yeah, I know.”

It’s back to stark silence, and Zayn wonders if having the TV on right now would’ve balanced it all out.

Of course, that’s Zayn’s fault too.

“Zayn, we have to talk.”

“Nope, we don’t. And I don’t want to hear it, so thanks but no thanks.”

“Well, you’re gonna hear it,” Louis spits, flaring his nostrils. “The fuck, bro. Don’t be like this.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” Zayn challenges. He doesn’t want this to escalate, not at all. Not when the veil of normalcy he and Louis try to keep is one of the greater parts of Zayn’s days. So he adds, “I’m, like. I’m _fine_. Really, babe. Just working through things on my own.”

Louis huffs when he stands up. “You know what? Sorry to burst your bubble of ignorance, but it’s _not_ just on your own. We’re _all_ effected by this, mate.”

“That’s not,” Zayn shrugs and licks his lips. “That’s not my problem. I didn’t start this.”

“You didn’t start this?” Louis chuckles, leaning on one hip. “You didn’t—? For God’s sake, do you hear yourself? What the fuck did you do with my best friend? ‘Cause Zayn would not say this sack of shit.”

“Sorry to burst _your_ bubble, Lou, but. Don’t give me shit when _I_ tried getting in touch with Niall last, and he ignored me that time. So don’t—”

“Oh my God! What the fuck, Zayn? Who the fuck ignored him first?” Louis screams.

Zayn has to turn away for a moment, because he’d be lying if the vein punctured down Louis’ neck wasn’t scary.

“I’m starting to think you made up this fake shit that you two slept together, Zayn. You’ve always fucking ran away once things got good for you. Just like Jonah, and look where you left him.”

“I didn’t leave him anywhere,” Zayn retaliates. “He put himself in that position, that’s not my fault either, Louis.”

“You don’t have a say when you hurt someone, Zayn!”

His words continue to scream in the room. They suffocate Zayn, again and again. So he focuses on his hands, traces the ink over the back of his palm, tries to fend off the thickness his throat is holding. Louis is telling the truth, the ugly bitter truth. And Zayn hates this part.

“Zayn,” Louis breathes loudly to dissipate the tension they’re surrounded in. “Maybe things wouldn’t have worked out with Jonah, either way. But Niall? The guy is so fucking great. The guy likes you like mad. And I just _see_ you two working out, and I know you like him way more than you’re already letting on. So it really saddens, and disappoints me that you’re letting this go to waste.”

Zayn looks up at Louis slowly, for fear the bit of liquid in the corners of his eyes will pool over. It’s becoming tiresome, his efforts at keeping a cry at bay. He just feels like he’s suddenly losing a lot more than one person at the moment.

“Jonah deserved some stuff you put him through, let’s be honest. But Niall didn’t deserve any of that. And if you were to just see him _once,_ Zayn. If you could only see how he is now.”

 _How is he?_ Zayn’s tempted to blurt. It’s torturous how desperately he wants to ask how Niall is. But the only thing he passes by his mouth is a weak, “He’ll soon be fine. Promise, Lou.”

Zayn has always liked boys, went out with a boy. He never liked a man before. And he didn’t realize the massive difference until Niall came along. Zayn hates that now he can’t ever say he never met someone who changed him from the core in his life again.

Louis sighs, purses his mouth and rolls his eyes when he turns towards the door.

“You’ve been selfish for so long, Z. So I have every right to say that your little scuffle with Niall is affecting _my_ relationship, and not feel bad about it. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you to fix it. ‘Cause I actually care about more people than myself.”

Zayn hears the soft click of his door closing. For a short moment he’s surprised that the hinges aren’t rattling with a sharp bang of wood meeting wood. But it’s just like an exhausted Louis to make Zayn feel even worse.

It’s pitiful of Zayn to attempt convincing himself that he might feel worse than Niall.

Lying to himself will only end up worse, he knows.

 

“I just, don’t know,” Theo shrugs, sporting a heavy pout as he lays his action figure down next to him. “I thought Lora would like _me_. I gave her my crayons, and the red one still had a lot of coloring left.”

Zayn nods, though Theo’s too preoccupied with abecedarian heartbreak to see him. Zayn understands broken child dialogue more than anyone; except Louis.

“I don’t know, Theo. Maybe she doesn’t know who she likes yet. It’s okay if she doesn’t, just make sure you’re not mean to her, okay?”

“Daddy said to be nice to her if I wanted her to like me back, but Uncle Niall said I should be nice to everyone, no matter what.”

Zayn was looking down at his rings, wondering if he should return Harry’s call or open one of his texts when Theo said this.

He whips his head over to him instantly, finds the little boy flipping through a picture book he owns.

It’s Saturday, and Zayn’s babysitting Theo because his parents didn’t have anyone else. He’s only doing this for a favor, and he likes spending time with the little kid. But he hasn’t heard of Niall, not even his name, since he spoke with Louis. Zayn suspects Louis had a big part of that; that maybe he told Liam what happened between them and he convinced Harry to be quiet about it around Zayn.

It wouldn’t be past Louis to make sure Zayn comfortable in his home. Despite their argument (and the fact he’s really bad at holding his tongue), he always took the extra step to keep Zayn happy, to keep him with a roof over his head and food on the table, whether it’s home cooked or bought already steamed. And Zayn’s made sure Louis felt the same, but Zayn really appreciates him now more than anything.

“Your Uncle is really smart,” Zayn mutters. He’s still a little sad with the current events, so he’s unaccountable for when he blurts, “I miss him, and. Like, I think he’s mad at me.”

“Uncle Niall is mad at _you_?” Theo gasps. “But he can’t be mad at _anyone_.”

“Yeah, well.” Zayn chuckles when he shrugs. He wants to cry, just a little bit; because this tiny confession shared with a child is relieving. He feels… progressively sated. And he knows with maybe one more text, a call or invite, the ugly tremor he inhabits in his torso will be gone. “I know he’s mad at me.”

“But,” Theo pouts. “But why?”

“Because he’s a really good person and he found out I’m not.”

“But. But you’re Zayn! You’re the greatest.”

“Aw.” Zayn pats Theo’s cheek, messes up his hair. “Thanks, bud. It’s all cool, though. It’ll work out eventually, most likely.”

“Well, I hope so. You two are the bestest so you should be friends forever.”

Zayn smirks, dotes over the blatant innocence Theo carries. He feels better, so he won’t ponder over stuff that won’t be solved in under a minute.

He only feels better for close to a half hour.

“Did your dad tell you someone was stopping by?” Zayn asks when the doorbell rings. He mostly gets a text from Greg or Denise informing him of a neighbor’s short visit or of a package arriving.

Theo shakes his head and runs to the door. He’s not allowed to open the door, and he knows this. And Zayn jogs to follow him because he’s sure Theo’s taking advantage of the fact his parents aren’t there to scold him.

“Theo, you can’t open the door, you know that.”

Zayn, did not say that. He’s actually still catching up, slowing his steps to avoid bumping into Theo.

To avoid bumping into the man Theo is jumping in front of.

 

Zayn endured an awkward hour-long bus ride with Jonah once, after they spent time with their friend and Jonah had tried to kiss Zayn when it was just the two of them; when Zayn was looking into his pockets for a cigarette and he looked up right in time for Jonah to lean in for a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Zayn once sat in a morning radio show where he mispronounced a state on live television. And he felt like the butt of the nation’s joke for weeks after that.

Zayn snuck the first boy into his house when he was fifteen, only for Yaser to catch them and for the three of them to sit in the dining room table as his father gave them a lecture that lasted forty-five minutes.

So yeah. Zayn has experience with discomfort. He knows firsthand how embarrassment feels tenfold.

But Zayn doesn’t know what to do with Niall _now_.

Niall’s—

He’s in the _flesh_.

“Uncle Niall, we were just talking about you!”

No. No no no.

Zayn is internally splitting apart, shedding each layer of his being. It’s _not fine._ And Zayn needs a semblance of control in the next five seconds.

But he only stands there, locks his arms by his sides and catalogs his body’s breathing on its own accord.

Niall’s patting Theo’s hair, smiling down at him. “What was that, Thee?”

It’s here where he looks up, soft grin still displayed, blond hair falling over his forehead, red mouth poised and gleaming, and he notices Zayn for the first time.

His smile stays intact; doesn’t falter in the slightest. Doesn’t drop to the floor where Zayn feels the need to be, at the moment. But his eyes bulge the slightest, just enough that Zayn witnesses the stuck breath in Niall’s chest and his frozen hand that stops midway petting his nephew’s hair down.

Zayn just wants to escape this eternity.

“Me and Zayn were talking about you. Remember Zayn?”

 _No_ , Zayn thinks. _No no please no_ , he continues when Niall steps inside, finally. A black t-shirt adorns his frame; paired with jean shorts and his favorite pair of white sneakers that Zayn’s surprised are still bind together.

But, like. As Zayn takes a moment to stabilize his nerves, chides the stinging in his veins to simmer over something cooling, he’s suddenly reminded of how long he last spoke to Niall.

It’s been unreasonably so long since Zayn last saw the man in front of him. Yet Zayn still recalls a memory of Niall all the time and no matter how this evening plays out this will become another one.

Zayn has a sudden fright that this night could only go in one of two ways. And when he tweaks a dislodged smile onto his face, he only hopes Niall can interpret how sincere Zayn is drastically trying to be.

“Uh. Um, hey you,” Zayn stutters. It’s a little fine now, just a little. But better. Because Niall isn’t giving him the nasty eye yet, nor is he ignoring Zayn the way they’ve been going around each other for so long.

There are a lot of more important matters Zayn should worry about. He has a competition the next day, it’s his turn to cook dinner the following week, and he needs to shut Theo up. But the only thing he can think of is if his horoscope read about this precise moment; if the stars aligned accordingly to make this happen.

“Yeh, ‘course I remember Zayn, little man.” Niall faces Theo while he talks, engages in his conversation for a little as they walk towards the living room. “Go watch telly for a little, yeah? Gonna go to the kitchen real quick,” he tells his nephew.

Theo agrees immediately, and when he runs away and Niall turns around to stare at Zayn before disappearing into the kitchen, Zayn instantly doesn’t mind Theo speaking for him instead.

Zayn takes a reasonable second to survey his surroundings, because something he was trying to make into nothing is slowly turning into a bigger thing. And if he wants to visit this house again, if he wants to potentially be a _part_ of all this, well. Zayn needs to be really smart, and really honest right now. And he’s never been good at being both simultaneously.

When he enters the kitchen with quiet steps, bookbag over his shoulder in case he has to flee at the last second, Niall’s leaning over the island, tapping away at his phone.

“Louis, um. He said…” Niall loses his breath for a second, lays his phone on the counter in front of him. It takes time before he speaks again. “Louis isn’t here, is he?”

“No.” Arms crossed over his chest, Zayn asks, “Why?”

“Nothing,” Niall shakes his head. He sharply laughs then, rubs his nose and points towards the entrance of the kitchen. “I’m just gonna, um. Yeah. See you, Zayn.”

“You’re leaving?” Zayn does a horrible job at hiding his gaping mouth, but Niall’s walking away and Zayn steps a bit closer to grasp his attention because. Because he can’t leave, just not yet, _please_. “What? Why? You just got here.”

“Thought Louis was gonna be here, actually. And he’s not, which should’ve been so fucking _obvious_ , I know. But, whatever, Z.”

“So that’s—” Zayn bites down on his tongue, but it doesn’t last for long. “So that’s it? Just like that, you’re leaving?”

“No reason for me to stay,” Niall answers, nonchalantly. He shrugs when Zayn only wordlessly stares back at him. Pursing his mouth, Niall leans his head to the side. “I’ll, um. I’ll see myself out.”

“Why would you even say that?”

“You know why.” Niall looks down when he crosses his arms, brings his gaze back up to Zayn patiently, though he’ll honestly leave in the next minute if this doesn’t get anywhere, Zayn knows.

Zayn is too sober for this. But he’s been away from alcohol since that night, and he has to think clearly right now. Alcohol caused him a problem, and though he’s past thinking he and Niall slept together, there are still a bit of odds holding onto him that it did actually happen.

“What did you tell Theo?” Niall asks, crossing his own arms over his chest. Oh shit, it’s here where the minimal mirth is wiped away. Now he looks the way Zayn felt about him all those months ago. Eyebrow too taut over his eye, mouth pinched into a tight line. His blue eyes are frozen right now.

Zayn swallows, and he repeatedly reminds himself Niall is just a person. He is a human being, just like Zayn. And he will make mistakes the same way Zayn did. But as Zayn gathers his thoughts and words together, they scatter away when he’s reminded all over again that he caused Niall to be this way. He caused the dead silence, all over nothing. He caused the tear in their relationship.

Zayn would rather attend a hockey game with Niall, than this. Because even then, despite Zayn’s animosity, maybe Niall will wear that gleam Zayn hasn’t seen in a while. And as the seconds tick, the gracious expression only seems farther away.

“I just told him I missed you,” Zayn says evenly. The silence chimes for a long time after that. Niall bites his lip once, blinks twice and stares at the ground before returning to Zayn. “I told him you were mad at me. And, like. I just miss you, s’all,” Zayn shrugs.

Zayn’s reminded all over again just how red Niall can get. His skin sinks under the unforgiving color, pale and splotchy and Zayn’s never been a fan of such a light complexion but he—

Zayn loves this shade on Niall. He loves every shade he can turn.

Zayn just, really _loves_ him. And he slims down the anarchic shock pulsing through his body, just a little; because maybe Zayn’s not in love with him yet but with the way Niall’s mouth is turning up in the corners, the way he turns away and smirks at nothing, with the imprint of a dimple Zayn can shade into paper for days, Zayn thinks maybe being in love with Niall isn’t all bad.

It probably isn’t all that bad, because Niall chuckles once, rubs a hand down his face as he flushes darker and Zayn feels a blush of his own rushing to his head and stinging behind his ears. It’s fruitless, his attempts at maintaining his own frown, with the way Niall turns back to him bashfully with a calming hue in his blue eyes.

“So,” Niall starts before clearing his throat. “So, it took this,” he points to the table in between them. “It took my nephew, and the off chance that I’ve listened to Louis this once, for you to fuckin’ talk to me?”

Then his joyful expression vanishes, and Zayn’s left to stare at the earlier depiction of anger that harbored on the blond’s features.

He takes the step until he’s gripping the island between them, but it brings Niall’s face closer and he’s a fool to believe that the pink tinge on Niall’s face was ever genuine.

“I—”

Niall shakes his head roughly. “No,” he cuts Zayn off. “I actually don’t want to hear it, thanks but no thanks.”

His finger taps the counter roughly as time passes, and Zayn knows one of them is going to leave really soon if no one starts talking. But he doesn’t know what to say; he doesn’t know what’ll keep Niall from leaving, what he has to do to bring back the Niall he skated with that first time.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, because it’s the only thought registering in his head as he blinks repeatedly and Zayn is shattering on the inside. “I fucked up, I did. And,” Zayn licks his lips to give himself some time.

Niall isn’t one to dote over petty things, and it was all just a bit of distancing from Zayn’s part. But Zayn has a shrilling voice in his head that sounds a lot like his best friend screeching _Don’t fuck around._

 _Don’t fuck around, Zayn_.

“I really fucked up, I get it. So, like. But,” he jumps on the balls on his feet like a toddler. “I’m sorry?” Zayn can’t fucking apologize properly for _shit_. “I don’t— I won’t do it again. I thought something—” Zayn waves a hand over his head because he doesn’t want to bring _that_ up. “Point is, I _really_ missed you and wow okay, this is really nerve-racking, right?”

A dead weight of crumbling hope rolls through Zayn’s body when Niall merely rolls his eyes, sighs loudly and stares into the living room; as if he can’t wait for a distraction to come their way.

Zayn follows his gaze to make sure Theo isn’t eavesdropping. Two steps around the counter and he finds the little boy still sat on the sofa, rummaging through the sparse candy wrappers Zayn left on the coffee table. It brings Zayn a few feet closer to Niall.

He’s unmoving, staring at Zayn seriously, knuckles flat against the granite in front of him. But beyond the façade and the more Zayn focuses on him, Zayn finds the chip in the armor, hiding a boy who’s possibly felt as disoriented as Zayn had from everything; probably felt discarded with no explanation.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t _mean_ to?”

“I didn’t—” Zayn fidgets, groans and locks his jaw when he exhales. “You know what I mean, I’m _sorry_.”

“Nope, I _don’t_ know what you mean, actually.”

Niall’s being extremely difficult; to the point if he was anyone, _anyone_ else, Zayn would’ve literally left by now. But, it’s _Niall_. And he has a valid reason to be this way.

“For why you’re mad at me,” Zayn murmurs. “You’re right, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Niall shakes his head when he licks his lips. “I’m really fuckin’ upset, more like.”

“You have every reason to be, so I’m sorry.”

Zayn locks himself in place with what he’s going to say next. And before giving it extra ( _needed_ ) thought, he rushes to say, “I thought we had sex in my room that night so it fucked with my head,” at the same time Niall admits, “I told you I don’t do one night stands and you went along and did that, anyway.”

“What?”

“ _What_ did you just say?” Niall leans closer, walks over until Zayn presses his side into the island counter.

Zayn doesn’t understand how he can still be in one piece, despite all the humiliation he’s been through in such a short time. And as Niall gets closer, and the heavy eyebrow he sets dangerously over his eye peers down Zayn impatiently, Zayn’s reminded why he doesn’t do relationships. Because _this_ happens, and he finds out he was wrong, and he always manages to mindlessly fuck with the other person’s feelings and

And Zayn does _not_ want to start another failed relationship with Niall. This is it.

“Zayn, what did you say?”

“I don’t, I dunno, what did _you_ say?” he mumbles.

Niall cackles, his eyebrows pull up in the inner corners and his eyes turn to slits as he guffaws and turns away from Zayn.

“You’re— You’re unbelievable. And to think I sincerely loved you.”

“What?”

“So it was a drunk fuck, all along?” he frowns when he faces Zayn again. “You’re telling me I was really just a shag that night? After everything, Z? Seriously?”

“That’s not it. I swear to God, that’s not it.”

“Well, please. Enlighten me. ‘Cause I sure as hell thought I was shit to you for the past month, Zayn.”

“You’re not, _don’t_ fucking say that.”

“I knew you were drunk too,” Niall says, pointing a finger at Zayn. “I knew it, and I tried to stop it. But you just.” He drops his hand. “Fuck, it’s just _you_. It’s _always_ been you, and you fucking kicked me out that night, Zayn. You fucking kicked me out.”

Zayn bites his tongue in reply, runs a thumb over his wrist bone to keep himself silent. Niall continues, and as he walks around and comes back to lean against the sink, he breathes deeply. It gives Zayn a miserable notion that Niall isn’t finished.

“Niall?”

“Do you have any idea how long it took me to first speak to you? Honestly, do you?”

Zayn slowly shakes his head.

“You don’t even want to know, what does it matter. Can’t fucking stand me, anyway,” Niall scoffs.

Zayn quietly maneuvers himself until he’s in front of Niall. But he moves back until he meets the island counter, mirrors Niall’s stance. “I do want to know,” he softly says. “Tell me. Was it after a training, that I was with Kareem? Or you were with Jarvis? Were you in the lockers?”

Niall bites roughly into his bottom lip when he shakes his head. Zayn doesn’t know if it’s an answer or just simple disbelief.

“I do want to know,” Zayn repeats himself. “I’m so fucking sorry, Niall. I’m not,” _used to wanting this._ “I’m just not used to this.”

“Yeah, I could’ve told you that,” Niall deadpans. He moves his jaw around before facing Zayn again. A bit of emotion sneaks its way into his voice again, “So it was all the alcohol that night?”

“If I’m being honest, I think it just gave me the courage to make the move,” Zayn mumbles around the finger he has against his mouth. “You’re, like. The whole package, Niall. And I didn’t want to fuck up.”

“Well, you did,” Niall says, some of the fight in his tone vanished.

He sounds close to defeat, a corner of his mouth pursed around the frown he won’t let go of. It’s a bit of a catch (but what’s new when it comes to Niall?) when Zayn takes the minute steps into Niall’s space, walks quietly in between his spaced legs and waits patiently until Niall looks up.

When he does, with eyebrows disappearing into his bangs and blue eyes catching most of the surrounding light, Zayn wraps his arms around Niall’s shoulders and hugs him tightly; embraces the warmth the blond lets off and presses his cheek to Niall’s temple.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn whispers after he drinks in his selfish share of holding Niall. “I don’t. I don’t wanna fuck up again, but, like.” Zayn steps back and pushes hair out of his face when he retake his earlier spot. “I can do this, if you want it too. I can, you know. If you _still_ want it, I mean.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Zayn, it’s fine.”

“I do,” Zayn nods. “I want. I want _you_ , so.”

“Forget it, honestly. Just,” Niall gestures with his hands wildly before rubbing them down his face. “Don’t do this. I’ll be your friend, if you call I’ll answer, I guess. But that’s it.”

Zayn was moving closer to hug him again, had his arms outstretched and begging to wrap around Niall just one more time. Just to seep some—if not all—of the weariness the blond is harboring. But as Niall’s words reach Zayn he stops in his step. “What… What are you saying?”

“I’m saying exactly that, Zayn,” Niall sighs, raising his eyebrows. His stance screams _are we done here?_

“No,” Zayn shakes his head. “No, don’t. Don’t say it’s over, or. That—”

Niall crumbles in front of Zayn, abruptly chuckles disbelievingly that his eyes turn to slits. Zayn didn’t know a face he’d come to love could be so ruthless. “Zayn, what _are_ you talking about? ‘It’s over’? Come on, mate. We were never together.”

“I know, that’s. I didn’t mean it like that. I just think.” Zayn stammers for a bit, is close to giving up altogether when Niall looks to the floor with a smirk, as if he’s trying not to laugh at Zayn. “I like you, so much, Niall. And I’m sorry that night made you feel like that. But I’m not sorry it happened, okay?” he whispers. “Because I feel, like. Maybe I just didn’t know how else to tell you. And maybe being as close to you as possible would’ve let you know.”

“Let me know what? That you liked me?” Niall gapes. “Oh come o— You could’ve text, you could’ve call me, fuckin’ tell me in person, mate. What shit is this?”

“I know, _I know_. I know this now, but I thought. Like, before? I was sure of you, without a doubt.” As Zayn crosses his arms tighter, he can’t help think of his previous relationship, and where he and Jonah are at today. “Wasn’t sure of myself. But I promise you, I completely am. I’m so sure of this, Niall.”

 “You also seem sure this isn’t gonna be the same as Jonah.”

“Wh—” Zayn faces the side before pressing a cold stare towards Niall. “What?”

“I know,” Niall nods. “You mentioned him quite a bit that night.”

“I’m way over him,” Zayn stresses.

“I know that too, Zayn. Talked to Louis about it and. Don’t know if he told me everything, but he told me enough.” Niall stands up taller, changes his stare until a tender gaze is fixed on Zayn. “You’re scared,” he adds.

“I’m not, actually,” Zayn honestly replies. He _wants_ this, because the only alternative is for the last month to repeat itself for a longer period of time and that’s not an option Zayn can envision experiencing again.

“You’re scared of getting hurt, or hurting someone again.”

“I’m—” A harsh defiance is beating against the back of Zayn’s teeth, pleading to be spewed into the air. But Zayn breathes through his nose and tucks his hands in his pockets instead; hunches his back and tenses his jaw. “Suppose I have every reason to worry about that.”

“I don't think I can be with you if you’re holding back,” Niall shakes his head, frowns fully. “I like you enough to deal with your shit, Zayn. I like you way more than enough to work the rest of our things out. But I don't think I can do this if I don’t have all of you.”

“Okay,” Zayn agrees easily. He doesn’t want to say the time apart cleansed his previous hesitance, but. Well. He feels better about this. Still unsure of some things, but overall eager to hold Niall’s hand in public; willing to squeeze into one seat with him whenever he comes over his home, if he comes over now.

Oh God, Zayn might be able to bring him to his room now. And what surprises Zayn more than anything is the fact he only pictures the both of them laying on his bed with a carton of lo mein between them, nothing more.

C’mere,” Zayn murmurs, because Niall continues to look unsure, and blue eyes flick around the room with so much hesitance Zayn cannot believe he actually caused the man in front of him to be like this.

But Niall doesn’t step closer; Zayn does. He steps as close as before moves his hands around Niall’s neck and pulls him closer, knots his fingers by the nape of his blond hair as the pale man pierces the floor with a heavy gaze and Zayn hovers over him. Zayn kisses Niall’s forehead like Niall kissed him the first time; short, persistent, to the point, yet still hesitant.

“No more disappearing,” Niall gently warns.

“No more, got it,” Zayn nods. “No listening to Louis.”

“Are you in any position to make rules?” Niall quirks his eyebrow. But he dissolves into a marginal smirk before Zayn’s able to respond. “I’m just teasing.”

“You’re, like. Honestly still interested? Legit?”

“Yep. I am.” Niall nods slowly and chews on his bottom lip. “Not sure how, or why. ‘Cause our first date was at a dental clinic. Bad taste, Zaynie. You had diarrhea a time after that.”

“That—” Zayn gapes and shrivels with the rest of his dignity. “That was a lie! Louis fucking lied!”

“Sure,” Niall rolls his eyes, growing smile etched onto his face. He looks over when Zayn’s glower is at its prime, firm over his mouth with dark eyebrows painfully pressed over hazel eyes.

“We should, maybe,” Zayn hums when he snakes a hand to hold Niall’s cheek, urge him just a little bit closer. “ We should go somewhere. Like, to FYE, remember? When you asked me out on a date? We can go this time,” Zayn nods his head roughly. “Or to Guitar Center, and Sam Ash, babe. Anywhere you want. _Whatever_ you want.”

“Are you seriously thinkin’ ‘bout that with me nephew just out there?” Niall incredulously asks. He slides a hand down Zayn’s body, trails it back up (and Zayn takes this moment to snatch a short kiss; and he can taste the wax just as much). It doesn’t seem like he’s trying to rile Zayn up, because the blond is still more cautious and diffident than focused on Zayn's lower regions that could spark up with the tiniest flame; he’s more just getting a feel of what he’s missed, making up for lost time.

“I wasn’t,” _wasn’t trying to,_ “wasn’t thinking of that. Meant like, a movie. Your favorite restaurant. I wanna take you on a proper date. Lavish you in whiskey, if you want.”

Niall’s bashful smirk presses the dimple into his cheek, the scorching redness his skin inhabits is blossoming, and Zayn can tell from this close proximity that every part of it is real this time.

“You’re still babysitting my nephew, babe.”

“Well, then. Tomorrow.” Zayn rubs his hands across Niall’s cheeks and feels the stubble under his palms. He pushes until Niall’s mouth puckers. “Be ready bright and early, around three in the afternoon.”

Niall laughs, moves his face away from Zayn’s chasing hands. “Your competition’s tomorrow. Don’t forget.”

“Shit. Fuck. Oh my God, I really forgot for a second.”

“Yeah, well—”

“Uncle Niall?”

They freeze, but neither make a move to separate. Niall curses breathlessly before turning. “Yeah, bud? Everything’s fine?”

“Why are your hands on Zayn’s butt?”

“Um. I, uh. Found it!” Niall grabs Zayn’s phone from his back pocket and pinches his bum, ignores Zayn’s instant jump. “Was looking for this, man. Couldn’t find me own.”

“Isn’t that your phone next to Zayn’s arm?” He points a chubby finger towards the iPhone sitting on the island counter.

“Isn’t that the telly on while you’re not watching it?” Niall counters. “You know how your da feels about that, Thee.”

Theo chuckles and makes no move to leave. So Niall thumps his head against Zayn’s shoulder before standing up straight and stepping away. But he keeps a hand lightly around Zayn’s elbow, tucks his fingers into the crease each time his touch loosens.

There are still patches to mend. Because when they sit in the living room and Zayn pulls Niall as close as possible to him without having him sit on his lap, the blond occasionally pinches Zayn’s skin, nudges his knee roughly or kicks his boot away when Zayn tries to curl closer to him. Then when Zayn looks over to figure out what’s wrong, Niall’s childishly glaring at him, muttering, “Still mad at you, don’t do that again,” with enough earnestness to cancel out his innocent expression.

Zayn doesn’t have anything left to say besides the same burdened apology. So he affectionately chucks Niall right back or leans in for a short kiss before Theo spots them.

Even then, Theo doesn’t complain. So as the minutes tick it becomes harder and harder to refrain kissing Niall again, now that Zayn’s just a tad bit more sure than before that he can do it as many times as he wants.

___

_v._

_Give me all your kisses, baby_

_‘Cause this is bliss_

_Give me all your kisses, baby_

___

 

There is a new list of rules Zayn abides by.

One, communication surprisingly solves potential problems that can easily be avoided. Two, buy hair products that are sulfate-free to better prevent having dry, frizzy hair. Three, never confide in friends about your boyfriend. Four, never confide in friends about your boyfriend. And five, if previous rule is broken, prepare for onslaught.

“My boyfriend is a Capricorn,” Niall sings in the doorway with a guitar strapped to his frame. “And he thinks I’m a saint.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Zayn asks after looking up from his book.

“Loui _iiiiiiiis_ ,” he continues to sing, “told _meeeeee_ ,” he plays the strings vigorously, “’bout the time we left the dentist, and through text you admitted, that I’m a saint despite you said you hate _meeeeee_.”

Zayn throws his book on his bed while he gets up. “Niall, what did he tell you?”

“You mean _Saint_ Niall, babe,” Niall winks.

Zayn pushes past him, but not before Niall grabs his chin for a few short kisses that has Zayn almost tripping as he tries to walk away.

He _eventually_  strides out of his room over to Louis’ where he finds the man on his stomach on his bed. “Did you seriously tell Niall about that time?”

“What time?” Louis easily asks, puts down his Xbox controller and moves the mic up to his ear.

“About—”

“Yet again it was through text and, while I laid on a hospital bed that,” Niall saunters in the room, fingertips dancing across the guitar strings, “a man couldn’t express his broken feelings, feelings for _meeeeeee_. That man right there,” Niall bites his bottom lip with a full grin as he points at Zayn. “He’s made just for _meeeee_.”

“What have you done?”

“ _I_ didn’t do anything except maybe tell some stuff that isn’t a big deal,” Louis laughs. “But why are you talking to me when you have a free show, Zayn? Niall’s killing it.”

 _He’s killing **me**_ , Zayn thinks when he turns to Niall again. The blond is simply smiling between the two of them, before he thumps the tapboard with a heavy beat as he hums.

“In the midst of no underwear, bodies meeting, fluids leaking, you told me to pull your hair, grip your neck and stop your breathing.”

“You fucking told him?!”

“I did not,” Louis guffaws, but his eye twitches as he gapes during each cackle. “I swear I did _not_ tell him that. Oh my God, Ni, keep this up.”

“Thank you,” Niall genuinely says, gripping the neck of his guitar.

Zayn pulls on Niall’s wrist when he leaves the room to return to his. “How did you get in here?”

“The door was unlocked?” Niall chuckles, easily following.

“The door was unlocked,” Zayn mocks, a heavy eye roll in the making. Niall pinches his side in retaliation.

“Hey, none of that,” Niall consoles as he closes Zayn’s door behind him. “You know you missed me, I can—”

“I missed you just a tiny bit,” Zayn mumbles into Niall’s neck after he places the guitar on the floor, wraps his arms around the blond tightly.

Niall went to Ireland for a month, a summer vacation he takes almost every year since he first came to live in America. It’s the first time he went away since he and Zayn got together. And despite Niall’s continuous efforts to have Zayn tag along and Zayn’s logical declines, Zayn does regret at least not considering it for a second.

He picked Niall up at the airport, with Louis and Liam and Harry. But Zayn only had the drive back home to enjoy Niall before his father and brother snatched him away for the better part of the day.

But it’s a quarter past six in the evening, and Zayn squeezes Niall to him as much as he can, relishes in the familiar faint scent he’s come to associate with Niall.

“Missed you too, babe,” Niall murmurs and pats Zayn’s side gently. He holds Zayn to him with his other arm as Zayn leans back to look at him. “Told me mam ‘bout you. She can’t wait to see you.”

“Well, give me a three-year notice so I can prepare myself.”

“She’s coming for my birthday, actually.”

“What?” Zayn gapes. “That’s only in a few weeks.”

“Exactly,” Niall squeals. “Now our parents can meet each other.”

Niall met Yaser and Trisha by accident. A day they both had off work that resorted to the both of them staying at Zayn’s while everyone else was nowhere to be found. Zayn remembers riding Niall lazily on his room floor, trying to converse about the new Chris Pine film but Niall was lost to him. There was also a part where they arm wrestled each other for a little bit, then when Niall went into Louis’ room to look for his borrowed shirt, he returned with a pair of handcuffs he found hooked around a handle of one of Louis’ drawers.

Zayn remembers taking pictures of the metal pair with a cheesy Niall and sending them to Louis, multiple times; and he only received a devil emoji in return. And it was while Niall had a Derby match playing on his laptop while they laid down on the couch that his parents came over.

Despite popular belief, Zayn reckons his parents (and _definitely_ his sisters) love his boyfriend more than him.

“Why am I not happy about that?” Zayn groans while rubbing his eye. He tugs Niall with him towards the bed, doesn’t let go until he has the blond laying down beneath him. Zayn rubs Niall’s neck softly and tucks his face back into Niall’s neck. He just really needs as much proximity with Niall.

“All is fine, Z. She’ll love you.”

“Not sure how I feel about _you_ , right now.” He lifts his face up to glare at Niall. “What did Louis tell you, about _that_?”

“’Bout what?” Niall smiles. He has a hand on the back of Zayn’s thigh and he keeps sliding it up. It’s a distraction, a _promising_ one; but a distraction all the same, and Zayn needs answers.

“About. About, like. Oh fuck you, when did Louis tell you about the hair pulling? And the, you know.”

“He didn’t. You did.”

“Excuse me?”

“That night, yeah? The first night, the night you kicked me out?”

“I said I was _sorry_ , I don’t even remember.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Niall covers Zayn’s face and lightly shoves him away, only to pull him closer again with a laugh. “No, but um. You might’ve been, like. Mumbling shit, babe.”

“What you mean?”

Niall breathlessly laughs and turns red with embarrassment. “God, don’t make me say it.”

Zayn grows red too, for a whole other reason. He just feels like a warmth in his being is secreting and spreading all throughout his body, igniting nerves in his face and causing the blood flowing through his heart to ripple erratically. “Babe, tell me,” he murmurs, grinning.

“You were. Well, you already know you were real fuckin’ out of it. But I guess you were close ‘cause you starting talking, babe. And I’m not gonna lie, I froze for a bit.”

“We’re not talking about this, the thought alone is traumatizing.”

“’ _Choke me, Niall_ ’,” Niall impersonates pitifully, failing when he erupts into stuttering giggles.

“Shut the fuck up,” Zayn warns. He’s not that much of a threat, and Niall knows too. So Zayn roughly clamps a hand over Niall’s mouth for better effect.

“’ _Pull my hair, baby. Oh, just like that. Oh, harder. Oh, oh—_ ”

“Do you wanna die today? Because you’re really close to it, Niall.”

“You kinky fucker,” the blond laughs tearfully, to the point he grows silent for a few seconds before a short wheeze passes through his mouth at a time. Zayn cannot help the amusing snort he releases as Niall crumbles beneath him.

After Niall calms down and Zayn shakes his head astoundingly, they look at each other again, and Zayn leans in to kiss Niall leisurely, but Niall dissolves into giggling fits right before Zayn can meet their lips.

He rolls his eyes, but wordlessly tucks his face back next to Niall and hugs him quietly.

Zayn would be lying if he said he’s sure of everything, if he’s sure of this. Because he’s not. The constant thought of this great thing potentially shriveling in front of Zayn’s eyes is just that, constant. So despite Niall’s gentle assurance and his father’s kind advice, Zayn doesn’t know how to transfer everything he’s feeling into a positive light. He doesn’t know a lot, actually.

Zayn doesn’t know that they are, in fact, going to break up, on the night of Niall’s birthday. He doesn’t know that it’s going to be because of his own hand. He doesn’t know that Niall _is_ going to eventually become exhausted with his lukewarm efforts of keeping their relationship in a good place. That his pseudo-playful words “ _I only remember your birthday ‘cause it’s my little sister’s also_ ,” will ensue the last reluctant straw of Niall’s.

Zayn doesn’t know that it only takes a few days after that, just a few days of being single, of Niall being his ex-boyfriend, for a load of discomfort to settle. That he’ll become bitter and remorseful, and so goddamn pathetic before the fall leaves. He doesn’t know that he’ll experience exactly what Jonah went through just as he predetermined, and that for the first time for as long as he can remember, it’ll be a hurt his father can’t walk him through, can’t help him at all.

Zayn doesn’t know that he’ll be unbearably hopeless, that he’ll become achingly distraught, and will try not to be with a fiery desperation. That one day he’ll randomly begin crying, will sob and heave from the bottom of his _soul_ , because he can’t get the knowledge out of his head that he put Jonah through this same torment.

 His friends will be there for him, of course; because Louis buys the latest Halo game for them and stays home more often, holds his and Liam’s relationship in the midst of texts and phone calls; Perrie will take him out of the apartment as much as she can, remind him that they only won the competition _because_ of him, surround him with her group of girlfriends that strays Zayn’s mind towards something a bit better for the meantime; Harry’s the best, because he grows just as desperate as Zayn to make the man feel better. And there’s a time that after Zayn pours his heart out for the first and last time to Harry, he’s almost crying with him, and innocently gives Zayn his last pack of Trident gum just to help in any way he can, which is none at all.

Zayn doesn’t know that he’ll come to grips with the broken ribcage he possesses when the first snow settles, that he’ll be able to speak with Niall without having to leave and be alone for the rest of the night. And though that time to prove himself doesn’t come, he keeps in mind that this separation is probably the best thing for his thawing heart. It doesn’t hurt so much to see Liam and Louis by the time the new year rolls in, and Perrie gives him an unworried smile that night that he hasn’t seen in months.

Zayn doesn’t know that he’ll see Niall again on the night of his own birthday, that he’ll be looking for a pint of ice cream in the goods store aisle for the movie he’s watching with Kareem that night and that the blond will quietly make his presence known, will awkwardly greet Zayn as if Zayn hasn’t just recently imagined Niall being there with his friends and family when he blew his candles out and made a wish.

It’ll be awkward, because Zayn can’t help but hopelessly think that maybe Niall came around looking for him to wish him a happy birthday, though that’s irrational when Niall just truthfully told him he didn’t expect to find Zayn there. It’ll be awkward because as Niall talks about what he and Eoghan got up to for Christmas the way he always does, with a lot of hands gestures and stressing the consonants wrapped around his mouth, Zayn will interrupt with an abundant _I miss you_. And he won’t stop blurting from there how he feels, and what he went through, and what he’s still going through since seeing Niall for the first time since that night is making everything come back to Zayn horribly. It’ll all remind Zayn of the night in Greg’s kitchen, the way Niall holds himself back and Zayn feels like he has everything to lose. Only this time, the night doesn’t end with Niall by his side.

Zayn doesn’t know that he’ll try so much, and so many times after that for Niall to look at him the way he did before. He doesn’t know that he’ll be walking a fine line between desperate and chaotic, yet still struggling to appear as if he’s handling it all accordingly. He doesn’t know that the night he unwillingly convinces himself that this could be for the better, that this new arrangement he and Niall have could potentially work out, will be followed by a morning Niall stops by with Theo because _the little man missed your face, Z._ And that he’ll pick up Brooklyn before going to the local zoo with them and he and Niall work out between maintaining two abnormally energetic children and molding their friendship into something presentable, something better.

He doesn’t know that the second time they go out will be so much more intimate, drastically serious, and completely better in every way.

Niall stops laughing after some bit, just to hug Zayn to him. “Missed you lots and lots, my love,” he whispers. “You’re coming with me next year.” He turns Zayn’s face to him, puckers his mouth like a child while Zayn leans in to kiss the red wax that’ll always be there.

“As if,” but Zayn’s lying, because he does end up visiting Ireland with Niall, and the year after that.

And the fear that perpetually latches onto him will never completely go away, but Niall always has a lot of love to give, especially to Zayn. So the growing pile Niall hands to him that Zayn stuffs in his chest will soon overshadow the rest.

He doesn’t know they break up again, reunite again for the last time.

And maybe along the way Zayn goes to school to study the stars, and he coaches figure skaters in the making who are as eager as he once was to melt into the ice beneath them. And he’ll always have a pair of skates right next to Niall’s, will always begrudgingly listen as Niall prances on about the local hockey team’s scoreboard.

Zayn will probably always lose when it comes to Niall, since the beginning. But he’s gained so much more along the way. And if he has to cope with every hockey game he attends just to appease the everlasting blond man he’s come to share his everyday with, then Zayn will suck it up and enjoy the ice rink he’s surrounded by.

It’s the exact same one where Niall will propose to him, but he doesn’t know that either.


End file.
